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Book JlB 



TALES 



OF 



THE DEAD. 



Printed by S. Hamilton^^eybridge 






TALES 



OF 



THE DEAD. 



PRINCIPALLY 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 



" Graves, at my command, 

Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 

By my so potent art." 

Shakspeare. 



LONDON : 

HUNTED FOR WHITE, COCHRANE, AND CO., FLEET-STK BET 



1813. 



4 









v 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



Although the passion for books of amusement 
founded on the marvellous relative to ghosts and spi- 
rits may be considered as having very much sub- 
sided ; yet I cannot but think that the tales which 
form the bulk of this little volume, may still afford 
gratification in the perusal. From the period when 
the late Lord Orford first published The Castle of 
Otranto, till the production of Mrs. Ratcliffe's ro- 
mances, the appetite for the species of reading in 
question gradually increased ; and perhaps it would 
not have been now surfeited, but for the multitude 
of contemptible imitations which the popularity of 
the latter writer called forth, and which continu- 
ally issued from the press, until the want of read- 
ers at length checked the inundation. 

The Northern nations have generally discovered 
more of imagination in this description of writing 
than their neighbours in the South or West ; and 
in proportion as they have been more the victims of 
credulity with respect to spirits, they have indulged 
in the wanderings of fancy on subjects of this kind, 
and have eagerly employed their invention in form- 
ing narrations founded on the supposed communi- 
cation between the spiritual world and mankind. 
The productions of Schiller, and others of the mo- 
dern German literati, of this nature, are well known 
in England. 



11 ADVERTISEMENT. 

The first four tales in this collection, and the 
last, are imitated from a small French work, which 
professes to be translated from the German*. It 
contains several other stories of a similar cast; but 
which did not appear equally interesting, and they 
have therefore been omitted. The last tale has 
been considerably curtailed, as it contained much 
matter relative to the loves of the hero and heroine, 
which in a compilation of this kind appeared rather 
misplaced. The fifth tale, (or rather fragment,) is 
founded on an incident similar in its features, which 
was some years since communicated to me, by a 
female friend of very deserved literary celebrity, 
as having actually occurred in this country ; and I 
have therefore no other claim in respect to it, than 

that of having a little amplified the detail. The 

termination is abrupt, and necessarily so, as I must 
candidly confess a want of imagination to fulfil the 
expectations which may have been excited by the 
early part of the tale. 

The translation was the amusement of an idle 
hour ; and if it afford an equal portion of gratifica- 
tion to the reader, the time has not been altoge- 
ther misemployed. 

* Fantasmagoriana ; ou Recueil d'Histoires d' Appari- 
tions, de Spectres, Revenans, Fant6mes, &c. Traduitde 
1'Allemand, par un Amateur. Paris, 1812. 2 torn. l2mo. 



PREFACE 



OF 



THE FRENCH TRANSLATOR. 



It is generally believed that at this time of day no 
one puts any faith in ghosts and apparitions. Yet, on 
reflection, this opinion does not appear to me quite 
correct: for, without alluding to workmen in mines, 
and the inhabitants of mountainous countries, — 
the former of whom believe in spectres and hob- 
goblins presiding over concealed treasures, and the 
latter in apparitions and phantoms announcing 
either agreeable or unfortunate tidings, — may we 
not ask why amongst ourselves there are certain in- 
dividuals who have a dread of passing through a 
church-yard after night-fall ? Why others experi- 
ence an involuntary shuddering at entering a church, 
or any other large uninhabited edifice, in the dark ? 
And, in fine, why persons who are deservedly consi- 
dered as possessing courage and good sense, dare not 
visit at night even places where they are certain of 
meeting with nothing they need dread from living 
beings ? They are ever repeating, that the living are 
only to be dreaded ; and yet fear night, because 
they believe, by tradition, that it is the time which 

a2 



IV PREFACE 

phantoms choose for appearing to the inhabitants of 
the earth. 

Admitting, therefore, as an undoubted fact, that, 
with few exceptions, ghosts are no longer believed 
in, and that the species of fear we have just men- 
tioned arises from a natural horror of darkness inci- 
dent to man, — a horror which he cannot account for 
rationally, — yet it is well known that he listens with 
much pleasure to stories of ghosts, spectres, and 
phantoms. The wonderful ever excites a degree of 
interest, and gains an attentive ear ; consequently, 
all recitals relative to supernatural appearances 
please us. It was probably from this cause that the 
study of the sciences which was in former times in- 
termixed with the marvellous, is now reduced to the 
simple observation of facts. This wise revolution 
will undoubtedly assist the progress of truth ; but it 
has displeased many men of genius, who maintain that 
by so doing, the sciences are robbed of their greatest 
attractions, and that the new mode will tend to 
weary the mind and disenchant study; and they neg- 
lect no means in their power to give back to the su- 
pernatural, that empire of which it has been recently 
deprived : They loudly applaud their efforts, though 
they cannot pride themselves on their success: for 
in physic and natural history prodigies are entirely 
exploded. 

But if in these classes of writing, the marvellous 



OF THE FRENCH TRANSLATOR. V 

and supernatural would be improper, at least they 
cannot be considered as misplaced in the work we 
arc now about to publish : and they cannot have any 
dangerous tendency on the mind ; for the title-page 
announces extraordinary relations, to which more or 
less faith may be attached, according to the credu- 
lity of the person who reads them. Besides which, it 
is proper that some repertory should exist, in which 
we may discover the traces of those superstitions to 
which mankind have so long been subject. We now 
laugh at, and turn them into ridicule : and yet it is 
not clear to me, that recitals respecting phantoms 
have ceased to amuse; or that, so long as human 
nature exists, there will be wanting those who will 
attach faith to histories of ghosts and spectres. 

I might in this preface have entered into a learned 
and methodical disquisition respecting apparitions ; 
but should only have repeated what Dom Calmet* 
and the Abbe Lenglet-Dufresnoyf have already said 

* Dissertation sur les Apparitions; par Dom Augustin Calmet: 
Jrae edition. Paris, 1751, 2 torn. 12mo. 

tTraite Historique et Dograatique sur les Apparitions, les Vi- 
sions, et les Revelations partieuliers ; avec des Remarques sur 
la Dissertation du R. P. Dom Calmet : par l'Abbe Lenglet-Du- 
fresnoy. Avignon ou Paris, 1751. 2 torn. l2mo. 

Recueil de Dissertations, Anciennes et Nouvelles, sur les Ap- 
paritions, les Visions, et les Songesjavec une Preface historique; 
par l'Abbe L. Dufresnoy. Avignon ou Paris, 1751. 4 torn. 12mo. 



« PREFACE 

on the subject, and which they have so thoroughly 
exhausted, that it would be almost impossible to ad- 
vance any thing new. Persons curious to learn every 
thing relative to apparitions, will be amply recom- 
pensed by consulting the two writers above mentioned. 
They give to the full as strange recitals as any which 
are to be found in this work. Although the Abbe 
Lenglet-Dufresnoy says there really are apparitions; 
yet he does not appear to believe in them himself: 
butDom Cal met finishes (as Voltaire observes) as if 
hebelieved what he wrote,and especially with respect 
to the extraordinary histories of Vampires. And 
we may add, for the benefit of those anxious to make 
deeper search into the subject in question, that the 
Abbe Lenglet-Dufresnoy has given a list of the prin- 
cipal authors who have written on spirits, demons, 
apparitions, dreams, magic, and spectres. 

Since this laborious writer has published this list, 
Swedenborg and St. Martin have rendered them- 
selves notorious by their Works ; and there have also 
appeared in Germany treatises on this question of 
the appearance of spirits. The two authors who have 
the most largely entered into the detail are Wagener 
and Jung. The first, whose book is entitled The 
Spectres*, endeavours to explain apparitions by at- 

* Die Gespenster Kurze Erzsshlungen aus dem Reiche rier 
Walirheit. BerJin, 1797, et suiv. in 8vo. 



X 0F THE FRENCH TRANSLATOR. VU 

tributing them to natural causes. But the second, 
on the contrary, firmly believes in spirits ; and his 
Theory on Phantasmatology* furnishes us with an 
undoubted proof of this assertion. This work, the 
fruit of an ardent and exalted imagination, is in some 
degree a manual to the doctrines of the modern 
Seers, known in Germany under the denomination of 
Stillingianer. They take their name from Stilling, 
under which head Jung has written memoirs of his 
life, which forms a series of different works. This 
sect, which is actually in existence, is grafted on the 
Swedenborgians and Martinisme, and has a great 
number of adherents, especially in Switzerland. We 
also see in the number of the [English) Monthly 
Review for December 1811, that Mrs. Grant has 
given a pretty circumstantial detail of the appari- 
tions and spirits to which the Scottish mountaineers 
attach implicit faith. 

In making choice of the stories for my translations 
from the German, which I now offer to the public, 
I have neglected nothing to merit the approbation of 
those who take pleasure in this species of reading : 
and if this selection has the good fortune to meet 
with any success, it shall be followed by another ; in 
which I shall equally endeavour to excite the curio- 
sity of the lovers of romance ; while to those who are 

* Theorie der Geister-Kunde. Nuremberg, 1808, in 8vo.— This 
work has been censured by several Protestant consistories. 



Vlll PREFACE OF THE FRENCH TRANSLATOR. 

difficult to please, and to whom it seems strange that 
any one should attach the slightest degree of faith to 
such relations, I merely say, — Remember the words 
of Voltaire at the beginning of the article he wrote 
on " Apparition" in his Philosophical Dictionary: 
" It is no uncommon thing for a person of lively feel- 
ings to fancy he sees what never really existed." 



TALES 



OF 



THE DEAD. 



TALES OF THE DEAD. 



I. 

THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 



No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your fancy 

May think anon, it moves. — 

The fixure of her eye has motion in't." 

Winter's Tale. 



J\ ight had insensibly superseded day, when Fer- 
dinand's carriage continued its slow course through 
the forest; the postilion uttering a thousand com- 
plaints on the badness of the roads, and Ferdinand 
employing the leisure which the tedious progress 
of his carriage allowed, with reflections to which 
the purpose of his journey gave rise. 

As was usual with young men of rank, he had 
visited several universities; and after having tra- 
velled over the principal parts of Europe, he was 
now returning to his native country to take posses- 
sion of the property of his father, who had died in 
his absence. 

Ferdinand was an only son, and the last branch 
of the ancient family of Meltheim : it was on this 
account that his mother was the more anxious that 

b 2 



4 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

he should form a brilliant alliance, to which both his 
birth and fortune entitled him; she frequently re- 
peated that Clotilde of Hainthal was of all others 
the person she should be most rejoiced to have as 
a daughter-in-law, and who should give to the 
world an heir to the name and estates of Mel- 
theim. In the first instance, she merely named 
her amongst other distinguished females whom 
she recommended to her son's attention : but 
after a short period she spoke of none but her: 
and at length declared, rather positively, that all 
her happiness depended on the completion of this 
alliance, and hoped her son would approve her 
choice. 

Ferdinand, however, never thought of this union 
but with regret; and the urgent remonstrances 
which his mother ceased not to make on the sub- 
iect, only contributed to render Clotilde, who was 
an entire stranger to him, less amiable in his eyes : 
he determined at last to take a journey to the ca- 
pital, whither Mr. Hainthal and his daughter 
were attracted by the carnival. He wished at 
least to know the lady, ere he consented to listen 
to his mother's entreaties ; and secretly flattered 
himself that he should find some more cogent 
reasons for opposing this union than mere caprice, 
which was the appellation the old lady gave to his 
repugnance. 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. b 

Whilst travelling alone in his carriage, as night 
approached, the solitary forest, his imagination 
drew a picture of his early life, which happy re- 
collections rendered still happier. It seemed, that 
the future presented no charms for him to equal 
the past ; and the greater pleasure he took in re- 
tracing what no longer existed, the less wish he 
felt to bestow a thought on that futurity to which, 
contrary to his inclinations, he seemed destined. 
Thus, notwithstanding the slowness with which his 
carriage proceeded over the rugged ground, he 
found that he was too rapidly approaching the 
termination of his journey. 

The postilion at length began to console him- 
self; for one half of the journey was accomplished, 
and the remainder presented only good roads : Fer- 
dinand, however, gave orders to his groom to stop 
at the approaching village, determining to pass the 
night there. 

The road through the village which led to the 
inn was bordered by gardens, and the sound of 
different musical instruments led Ferdinand to 
suppose that the villagers were celebrating some 
rural fete. He already anticipated the pleasure 
of joining them, and hoped that this recreation 
would dissipate his melancholy thoughts. But on 
listening more attentively, he remarked that the 
music did not resemble that usually heard at inns ; 



O TALES OF THE DEAD. 

and the great light he perceived at the window of 
a pretty house from whence came the sounds that 
had arrested his attention, did not permit him to 
doubt that a more select party than are accus- 
tomed to reside in the country at that unfavourable 
season, were amusing themselves in performing a 
concert, 

The carriage now stopped at the door of a 
small inn of mean appearance. Ferdinand, who 
counted on much inconvenience and few comforts, 
asked who was the lord of the village. They in- 
formed him that he occupied a chateau situated 
in an adjoining hamlet. Our traveller said no more, 
but was obliged to content himself with the best 
apartment the landlord could give him. To divert 
his thoughts, he determined to walk in the village, 
and directed his steps towards the spot where he 
had heard the music ; to this the harmonious 
sounds readily guided him : he approached softly, 
and found himself close to the house where the 
concert was performing. A young girl, sitting at 
the door, was playing with a little dog, who began 
to bark. Ferdinand, drawn from his reverie by 
this singular accompaniment, begged the little girl 
to inform him who lived in that house. " It is 
my father," she replied, smiling ; " come in, sir." 
And saying this, she slowly went up the steps. 
Ferdinand hesitated for an instant whether to 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 7 

accept this unceremonious invitation. But the 
master of the house came down, saying to him in 
a friendly tone : " Our music, sir, has probably 
been the only attraction to this spot ; no matter, it 
is the pastor's abode, and to it you are heartily 
welcome. My neighbours and I," continued he, 
whilst leading Ferdinand in, " meet alternately 
at each other's houses once a week, to form 
a little concert ; and to-day it is my turn. Will 
you take a part in the performance, or only listen 
to it? Sit down in this apartment. Are you ac- 
customed to hear better music than that performed 
simply by amateurs? or do you prefer an assemblage 
where they pass their time in conversation ? If you 
like the latter, go into the adjoining room, where 
you will find my wife surrounded by a young cir- 
cle : here is our musical party, there is their conver- 
sazioni." Saying this, he opened the door, made 
a gentle inclination of the head to Ferdinand, and 
seated himself before his desk. Our traveller 
would fain have made apologies ; but the per- 
formers in an instant resumed the piece he had 
interrupted. At the same time the pastor's wife, 
a young and pretty woman, entreated Ferdinand, 
in the most gracious manner possible, entirely to 
follow his own inclinations, whether they led him 
to remain with the musicians, or to join the circle 
assembled in the other apartment. Ferdinand, 



8 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

after uttering some common-place terms of polite- 
ness, followed her into the adjoining room. 

The chairs formed a semicircle round the sofa, 
and were occupied by several women and by some 
men. They all rose on Ferdinand's entering, and 
appeared a little disconcerted at the interruption. 
In the middle of the circle was a low chair, on 
which sat, with her back to the door, a young and 
sprightly female, who, seeing every one rise, 
changed her position, and at sight of a stranger 
blushed and appeared embarrassed. Ferdinand 
entreated the company not to interrupt the con- 
versation. They accordingly reseated themselves, 
and the mistress of the house invited the new guest 
to take a seat on the sofa by two elderly ladies, 
and drew her chair near him. " The music/' she 
said to him, " drew you amongst us, and yet in 
this apartment we have none ; I hear it nevertheless 
with pleasure myself: but I cannot participate in 
my husband's enthusiasm for simple quartetts and 
symphonies ; several of my friends are of the same 
way of thinking with me, which is the reason that, 
while our husbands are occupied with their favour- 
ite science, we here enjoy social converse, which 
sometimes, however, becomes too loud for our 
virtuoso neighbours. To-day, I give a long-pro- 
mised tea-drinking. Every one is to relate a story 
of ghosts, or something of a similar nature. You 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. Q 

see that my auditors are more numerous than the 
band of musicians." 

" Permit me, madam," replied Ferdinand, " to 
add to the number of your auditors ; although I have 
not much talent in explaining the marvellous." 

" That will not be .any hinderance to you here," 
answered a very pretty brunette ; " for it is agreed 
amongst us that no one shall search for any expla- 
nation, even though it bears the stamp of truth, 
as explanations would take away all pleasure from 
ghost stories." 

" I shall benefit by your instructions," answered 
Ferdinand : " but without doubt I interrupt a very 
interesting recital ; — dare I entreat — ?" 

The young lady with flaxen hair, who rose from 
the little seat, blushed anew; but the mistress of 
the house drew her by the arm, and laughing, con- 
ducted her to the middle of the circle. " Come, 
child," said she, " don't make any grimace ; reseat 
yourself, and relate your story. This gentleman 
will also give us his." 

" Do you promise to give us one, sir ?" said the 
young lady to Ferdinand. He replied by a low T 
bow. She then reseated herself in the place des- 
tined for the narrator, and thus began : 

" One of my youthful friends, named Juliana, 
passed every summer with her family at her father's 
estate. The chateau was situated in a romantic 



10 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

country; high mountains formed a circle in the di- 
stance ; forests of oaks and fine groves surrounded 
it. It was an ancient edifice, and had descended 
through a long line of ancestry to Juliana's father ; 
for which reason, instead of making any alterations, 
he was only anxious to preserve it in the same state 
they had left it to him. 

" Among the number of antiquities most prized 
by him was the family picture gallery ; a vaulted 
room, dark, high, and of gothic architecture, where 
hung the portraits of his forefathers, as large as the 
natural size, covering the walls, which were black- 
ened by age. Conformable to an immemorial 
custom, they ate in this room: and Juliana has 
often told me, that she could not overcome, espe- 
cially at supper-time, a degree of fear and repug- 
nance ; and that she had frequently feigned indis- 
position, to avoid entering this formidable apart- 
ment. Among the portraits there was one of a 
female, who, it would seem, did not belong to the 
family; for Juliana's father could neither tell whom 
it represented, nor how it had become ranged 
amongst his ancestry : but as to all appearance it 
had retained its station for ages, my friend's father 
was unwilling to remove it. 

" Juliana never looked at this portrait without 
an involuntary shuddering: and she has told me, 
that from her earliest infancy she has felt this 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 11 

secret terror, without being able to define the 
cause. Her father treated this sentiment as pue- 
rile, and compelled her sometimes to remain alone 
in that room. But as Juliana grew up, the terror 
this singular portrait occasioned, increased ; and she 
frequently supplicated her father, with tears in her 
eyes, not to leave her alone in that apartment — 
' That portrait/ she would say, ' regards me not 
gloomily or terribly, but with looks full of a mild 
melancholy. It appears anxious to draw me to it, 
and as if the lips were about to open and speak to 
me. — That picture will certainly cause my death.' 

" Juliana's father at length relinquished all hope 
of conquering his daughter's fears. One night at 
supper, the terror she felt had thrown her into 
convulsions, for she fancied she saw the picture 
move its lips ; and the physician enjoined her father 
in future to remove from her view all similar causes 
of fear. In consequence, the terrifying portrait 
was removed from the gallery, and it was placed 
over the door of an uninhabited room in the attic 
story. 

" Juliana, after this removal, passed two years 
without experiencing any alarms. Her com- 
plexion resumed its brilliancy, which surprised 
every one ; for her continual fears had rendered 
her pale and wan : but the portrait and the fears it 
produced had alike disappeared, and Juliana — '* 



12 TALES OF THE DEAI>. 

" Well," cried the mistress of the house, smiling, 
when she perceived that the narrator appeared to 
hesitate, " confess it, my dear child ; Juliana found 
an admirer of her beauty ; — was it not so ? " 

" 'Tis even so," resumed the young lady, blush- 
ing deeply; "she was affianced : and her intended 
husband coming to see her the day previous to 
bat fixed on for her marriage, she conducted him 
over the chateau, and from the attic rooms was 
shewing him the beautiful prospect which ex- 
tended to the distant mountains. On a sudden 
she found herself, without being aware of it, in 
the room where the unfortunate portrait was 
placed. And it was natural that a stranger, sur- 
prised at seeing it there alone, should ask who it 
represented. To look at it, recognise it, utter a 
piercing shriek, and run towards the door, were but 
the work of an instant with poor Juliana. But 
whether in effect owing to the violence with which 
she opened the door the picture was shaken, or 
whether the moment was arrived in which its 
baneful influence was to be exercised over Juliana, 
I know not ; but at the moment this unfortunate 
girl was striving to get out of the room and avoid 
her destiny, the portrait fell ; and Juliana, thrown 
down by her fears, and overpowered by the heavy 

weight of the picture, never rose more." 

A long silence followed this recital, which was 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 13 

only interrupted by the exclamations of surprise 
and interest excited for the unfortunate Juliana. 
Ferdinand alone appeared untouched by the general 
emotions. At length, one of the ladies sitting 
near him broke the silence by saying, " This story 
is literally true; I knew the family where the fatal 
portrait caused the death of a charming young girl : 
I have also seen the picture ; it has, as the young 
lady truly observed, an indescribable air of good- 
ness which penetrates the heart, so that I could 
not bear to look on it long ; and yet, as you say, its 
look is so full of tender melancholy, and has such 
infinite attractions, that it appears that the eyes 
move and have life." 

" In general," resumed the mistress of the 
house, at the same time shuddering, " I don't like 
portraits, and I would not have any in the rooms I 
occupy. They say that they become pale when the 
original expires ; and the more faithful the likeness, 
the more they remind me of those waxen figures I 
cannot look at without aversion." 

" That is the reason," replied the young person 
who had related the history, "that 1 prefer those 
portraits where the individual is represented occu- 
pied in some employment, as then the figure is 
entirely independent of those who look at it ; where- 
as in a simple portrait the eyes are inanimately 
fixed on every thing that passes. Such portraits 



14 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

appear to me as contrary to the laws of illusion as 
painted statues." 

" I participate in your opinion," replied Fer- 
dinand ; " for the remembrance of a terrible im- 
pression produced on my mind when young, by a 
portrait of that sort, will never be effaced." 

" O ! pray relate it to us," said the young lady 
with flaxen hair, who had not as yet quitted the 
low chair ; " you are obliged according to promise 
to take my place." She instantly arose, and jokingly 
forced Ferdinand to change seats with her. 

" This history," said he, " will resemble a little 
too much the one you have just related; permit me 
therefore " 

" That does not signify," resumed the mistress 
of the house, "one is never weary with recitals 
of this kind; and the greater repugnance I feel in 
looking at these horrible portraits, the greater is 
the pleasure I take in listening to histories of their 
eyes or feet being seen to move." 

" But seriously," replied Ferdinand, who would 
fain have retracted his promise, " my history is too 
horrible for so fine an evening. I confess to you 
that I cannot think of it without shuddering, al- 
though several years have elapsed since it hap- 
pened." 

" So much the better, so much the better ! " 
cried nearly all present ; " how you excite our 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 15 

curiosity! and its having happened to yourself will 
afford double pleasure, as we cannot entertain any 
doubt of the fact." 

" It did not happen personally to me," answered 
Ferdinand, who reflected that he had gone too 
far, " but to one of my friends, on whose word I 
have as firm a reliance as if I had been myself a 
witness to it." 

They reiterated their entreaties ; and Ferdinand 
began in these words : — " One day, when I was 
arguing with the friend of whom I am about to 
make mention, on apparitions and omens, he told 
me the following story : — 

*' I had been invited,' said he, ' by one of my 
college companions, to pass my vacations with 
him at an estate of his father's. The spring was 
that year unusually late, owing to a long and severe 
winter, and appeared in consequence more gay 
and agreeable, which gave additional charms to 
our projected pleasures. We arrived at his father's 
in the pleasant mouth of April, animated by all the 
gaiety the season inspired. 

" As my companion and I were accustomed to 
live together at the university, he had recommended 
to his family, in his letters, so to arrange matters 
that we might live together at his father's also : we 
in consequence occupied two adjoining rooms, 
from whence we enjoyed a view of the garden and 



16 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

a fine country, bounded in the distance by forests 
and vineyards. In a few days I found myself so 
completely at home in the house, and so famili- 
arised with its inhabitants, that nobody, whether of 
the family or among the domesticks, made any dif- 
ference between my friend and myself. His younger 
brothers, who were absent from me in the day, 
often passed the night in my room, or in that of 
their elder brother. Their sister, a charming girl 
about twelve years of age, lovely and blooming as 
a newly blown rose, gave me the appellation of 
brother, and fancied that under this title she was 
privileged to shew me all her favourite haunts in 
the garden, to gratify my wishes at table, and to 
furnish my apartment with all that was requisite. 
Her cares and attention will never be effaced from 
my recollection ; they will long outlive the scenes 
of horror that chateau never ceases to recall to 
my recollection. From the first of my arrival, I 
had remarked a huge portrait affixed to the wall of 
an antechamber through which I was obliged to 
pass to go to my room ; but, too much occupied 
by the new objects which on all sides attracted 
my attention, I had not particularly examined it. 
Meanwhile I could not avoid observing that, 
though the two younger brothers of my friend 
were so much attached to me, that they would 
never permit me to go at night into my room 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 17 

Without them, yet they always evinced an unac- 
countable dread in crossing the hall where this 
picture hung. They clung to me, and embraced 
me that I might take them in my arms; and 
whichever I was compelled to take by the hand, 
invariably covered his face, in order that he might 
not see the least trace of the portrait* 

" Being aware that the generality of children 
are afraid of colossal figures, or even of those of 
a natural height, I endeavoured to give my two 
young friends courage. However, on more atten- 
tively considering the portrait which caused them 
so much dread, I could not avoid feeling a degree 
of fear myself. The picture represented a knight 
in the costume of a very remote period ; a full grey 
mantle descended from his shoulders to his knees; 
one of his feet placed in the foreground, appeared 
as if it was starting from the canvass ; his counte- 
nance had an expression which petrified me with 
fear. I had never before seen any thing at all 
like it in nature. It was a frightful mixture of the 
stillness of death, with the remains of a violent 
and baneful passion, which not even death itself 
was able to overcome. One would have thought 
the artist had copied the terrible features of one 
risen from the grave, in order to paint this terrific 
portrait. I was seized with a terror little less 
than the children, whenever I wished to con- 

c 



18 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

template this picture. Its aspect was disagreeable 
to my friend, but did not cause him any terror : 
his sister was the only one who could look at this 
hideous figure with a smiling countenance ; and 
Said to me with a compassionate air, when I dis- 
covered my aversion to it, ' That man is not wicked, 
but he is certainly very unhappy.' My friend told 
me that the picture represented the founder of his 
race, and that his father attached uncommon value 
to it ; it had, in all probability, hung there from 
time immemorial, and it would not be possible to 
remove it from this chamber without destroying the 
regularity of its appearance. 

" Meanwhile, the term of our vacation was 
speedily drawing to its close, and time insensibly 
wore away in the pleasures of the country. The 
old count, who remarked our reluctance to quit 
him, his amiable family, his chateau, and the 
fine country that surrounded it, applied himself 
with kind and unremitting care, to make the day 
preceding our departure a continual succession of 
rustic diversions : each succeeded the other without 
the slightest appearance of art; they seemed of 
necessity to follow each other. The delight that 
illumined the eyes of my friend's sister when she 
perceived her father's satisfaction; the joy that 
was painted in Emily's countenance (which was 
the name of this charming girl) when she surprised 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 19 

evea her father by her arrangements, which out- 
stripped his projects, led me to discover the entire 
confidence that existed between the father and 
daughter, and the active part Emily had taken in 
directing the order which reigned in that day's 
festivities. 

" Night arrived ; the company in the gardens 
dispersed ; but my amiable companions never 
quitted my side. The two young boys skipped 
gaily before us, chasing the may-bug, and shaking 
the shrubs to make them come out. The dew 
arose, and aided by the light of the moon formed 
silver spangles on the flowers and grass. Emily hung 
on my arm ; and an affectionate sister conducted 
me, as if to take leave, to all the groves and places 
I had been accustomed to visit with her, or with 
the family. On arriving at the door of the chateau, 
I was obliged to repeat the promise I had made to 
her father, of passing some weeks in the autumn 
with him. ' That season,' said she, ' is equally beau- 
tiful with the spring ! ' With what pleasure did I 
promise to decline all other engagements for this. 
Emily retired to her apartment, and, according to 
custom, I went up to mine, accompanied by my 
two little boys : they ran gaily up the stairs ; and 
in crossing the range of apartments but faintly 
lighted, to my no small surprise their boisterous 
mirth was not interrupted by the terrible portrait. 



20 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" For my own part, my head and heart were 
full of the intended journey, and of the agreeable 
manner in which my time had passed at the count's 
chateau. The images of those happy days crowded 
on my recollection ; my imagination, at that time 
possessing all the vivacity of youth, was so much 
agitated, that I could not enjoy the sleep which 
already overpowered my friend. Emily's image, 
so interesting by her sprightly grace, by her pure 
affection for me, was present to my mind like an 
amiable phantom shining in beauty. I placed 
myself at the window, to take another look at 
the country I had so frequently ranged with her, 
and traced our steps again probably for the last 
time. I remembered each spot illumined by the 
pale light the moon afforded. The nightingale 
was singing in the groves where we had delighted 
to repose ; the little river on which while gaily 
singing we often sailed, rolled murmuringly her 
silver waves. 

" Absorbed in a profound reverie, I mentally 
exclaimed : With the flowers of spring, this soft 
pure peaceful affection will probably fade ; and as 
frequently the after seasons blight the blossoms 
and destroy the promised fruit, so possibly may 
the approaching autumn envelop in cold reserve 
that heart which, at the present moment, appears 
only to expand with mine ! 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 21 

" Saddened by these reflections, I withdrew 
from the window, and overcome by a painful 
agitation I traversed the adjoining rooms ; and 
on a sudden found myself before the portrait of 
my friend's ancestor. The moon's beams darted 
on it in the most singular manner possible, in- 
somuch as to give the appearance of a horrible 
moving spectre; and the reflexion of the light 
gave to it the appearance of a real substance about 
to quit the darkness by which it was surrounded. 
The inanimation of its features appeared to give 
place to the most profound melancholy ; the sad 
and glazed look of the eyes appeared the only 
hinderance to its uttering its grief. 

" My knees tremblingly knocked against each 
other, and with an unsteady step I regained my 
chamber : the window still remained open ; I 
reseated myself at it, in order that the freshness of 
the night air, and the aspect of the beautiful sur- 
rounding country, might dissipate the terror I had 
experienced. My wandering eyes fixed on a long 
vista of ancient linden trees, which extended from 
my window to the ruins of an old tower, which 
had often been the scene of our pleasures and 
rural fetes. The remembrance of the hideous 
portrait had vanished ; when on a sudden there 
appeared to me a thick fog issuing from the ruined 



22 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

tower, which advancing through the vista of lin- 
dens came towards me. 

" I regarded this cloud with an anxious curiosity : 
it approached ; but again it was concealed by the 
thickly-spreading branches of the trees. 

" On a sudden I perceived, in a spot of the 
avenue less dark than the rest, the same figure 
represented in the formidable picture, enveloped 
in the grey mantle I so well knew. It advanced 
towards the chateau, as if hesitating : no noise was 
heard of its footsteps on the pavement ; it passed 
before my window without looking up, and gained 
a back door which led to the apartments in the 
colonnade of the chateau, 

" Seized with trembling apprehension, I darted 
towards my bed, and saw with pleasure that the 
two children were fast asleep on either side. The 
noise I made awoke them ; they started, but in an 
instant were asleep again. The agitation I had 
endured took from me the power of sleep, and I 
turned to awake one of the children to talk with 
me : but no powers can depict the horrors I en- 
dured when I saw the frightful figure at the side of 
the child's bed. 

" I was rjetrified with horror, and dared neither 
move nor shut my eyes. I beheld the spectre stoop 
towards the child and softly kiss his forehead : he 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 23 

then went round the bed, and kissed the forehead 
of the other boy. 

" I lost all recollection at that moment ; and 
the following morning, when the children awoke 
me with their caresses, I was willing to consider 
the whole as a dream. 

" Meanwhile, the moment for our departure was 
at hand. We once again breakfasted all together 
in a grove of lilacs and flowers. ' I advise you to 
take a little more care of yourself,' said the old 
count in the midst of other conversation ; * for I last 
night saw you walking rather late in the garden, in a 
dress ill suited to the damp air ; and I was fearful 
such imprudence would expose you to cold and 
fever. Young people are apt to fancy they are 
invulnerable; but I repeat to you, Take advice 
from a friend.' 

" < In truth,' I answered, 1 1 believe readily that 
I have been attacked by a violent fever, for never 
before was I so harassed by terrifying visions : I can 
now conceive how dreams afford to a heated ima- 
gination subjects for the most extraordinary stories 
of apparitions.' 

" ' What would you tell me ?' demanded the 
count in a manner not wholly devoid of agitation. 
I related to him all that I had seen the preceding 
night ; and to my great surprise he appeared to me 
in no way astonished, but extremely affected. 



24 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

u ' You say,' added he in a trembling voice, 
4 that the phantom kissed the two children's fore- 
heads?' I answered him, that it was even so. 
He then exclaimed, in accents of the deepest de- 
spair, ' Oh heavens ! they must then both die ! ' "— ■» 

Till now the company had listened without the 
slightest noise or interruption to Ferdinand : but as 
he pronounced the last words, the greater part of 
his audience trembled ; and the young lady who had 
previously occupied the chair on which he sat, 
uttered a piercing shriek. 

" Imagine," continued Ferdinand, " how asto- 
nished my friend must have been at this unex- 
pected exclamation. The vision of the night had 
caused him excess of agitation ; but the melancholy 
voice of the count pierced his heart, and seemed 
to annihilate his being, by the terrifying conviction 
of the existence of the spiritual world, and the se- 
cret horrors with which this idea was accompanied. 
It was not then a dream, a chimera, the fruit of an 
over-heated imagination! but a mysterious and 
infallible messenger, which, dispatched from the 
world of spirits, had passed close to him, had 
placed itself by his couch, and by its fatal kiss had 
dropt the germ of death in the bosom of the two 
children. 

" He vainly entreated the count to explain this 
(extraordinary event. Equally fruitless were his son's 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 25 

endeavours to obtain from the count the develope- 
ment of this mystery, which apparently concerned 
the whole family. ' You are as yet too young/ 
replied the count : ' too soon, alas ! for your peace 
of mind, will you be informed of these terrible cir- 
cumstances which you now think mysterious/ 

" Just as they came to announce to my friend 
that all was ready, he recollected that during the 
recital the count had sent away Emily and her two 
younger brothers. Deeply agitated, he took leave 
of the count and the two young children who came 
towards him, and who would scarcely permit 
themselves to be separated from him. Emily, who 
had placed herself at a window, made a sign of 
adieu. Three days afterwards the young count 
received news of the death of his two younger 
brothers. They were both taken off in the same 
night. 

" You see," continued Ferdinand, in a gayer 
tone, in order to counteract the impression of sad- 
ness and melancholy his story had produced on the 
company ; " You see my history is very far from 
affording any natural explication of the wonders 
it contains; explanations which only tend to shock 
one's reason : it does not even make you entirely, 
acquainted with the mysterious person, which one 
has a right to expect in all marvellous recitals. 
But I could learn nothing more ; and the old count 



2(5 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

dying without revealing the mystery to his son, I 
see no other means of terminating the history of 
the portrait, which is undoubtedly by no means 
devoid of interest, than by inventing according to 
one's fancy a denouement which shall explain all." 
" That does not appear at all necessary to me," 
said a young man : " this history, like the one that 
preceded it, is in reality finished, and gives all the 
satisfaction one has any right to expect from re?- 
citals of this species." 

" I should not agree with you," replied Ferdi- 
nand, " if I was capable of explaining the myste- 
rious connection between the portrait and the death 
of the two children in the same night, or the terror 
of Juliana at sight of the other portrait, and 
her death, consequently caused by it. I am, how- 
ever, not the less obliged to you for the entire 
satisfaction you evince." 

" But," resumed the young man, " what benefit 
would your imagination receive, if the connections 
of which you speak were known to you ?" 

" Very great benefit, without doubt," replied 
Ferdinand; "for imagination requires the com- 
pletion of the objects it represents, as much as the 
judgment requires correctness and accuracy in its 
ideas." 

The mistress of the house, not being partial to 
these metaphysical disputes, took part with Fer- 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 27 

dinand : " We ladies," said she, " are always cu- 
rious; therefore don't wonder that we complain 
when a story has no termination. It appears to 
me like seeing the last scene of Mozart's Don 
Juan without having witnessed the preceding ones ; 
and I am sure no one would be the better satisfied, 
although the last scene should possess infinite 
merit." 

The young man remained silent, perhaps less 
through conviction than politeness. Several per- 
sons were preparing to retire; and Ferdinand, who 
had vainly searched with all his eyes for the young 
lady with flaxen hair, was already at the door, 
when an elderly gentleman, whom he remembered 
to have seen in the music-room, asked him whe- 
ther the friend concerning whom he had related 
the story was not called Count Meltheim ? 

" That is his name/' answered Ferdinand a 
little drily ; " how did you guess it ? — are you ac- 
quainted with his family?" 

" You have advanced nothing but the simple 
truth," resumed the unknown. " Where is the count 
at this moment?" 

" He is on his travels," replied Ferdinand. 
" But I am astonished " 

" Do you correspond with him ?" demanded 
the unknown. 



28 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" J do," answered Ferdinand. " But I don't un- 
derstand " 

" Well then," continued the old man, " tell him 
that Emily still continues to think of him, and that 
he must return as speedily as possible, if he takes 
any interest in a secret that very particularly con- 
cerns her family." 

On this the old man stepped into his carriage, 
and had vanished from Ferdinand's sight ere he 
had recovered from his surprise. He looked 
around him in vain for some one who might in- 
form him of the name of the unknown : every one 
was gone ; and he was on the point of risking being- 
considered indiscreet, by asking for information of 
the pastor who had so courteously treated him, 
when they fastened the door of the house, and he 
was compelled to return in sadness to his inn, and 
leave his researches till the morning. 

The frightful scenes of the night preceding Fer- 
dinand's departure from the chateau of his friend's 
father, had tended to weaken the remembrance of 
Emily ; and the distraction which his journey so 
immediately after had produced, had not contri- 
buted to recall it with any force : but all at once 
the recollection of Emily darted across his mind 
with fresh vigour, aided by the recital of the pre- 
vious evening and the old man's conversation: it 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 2<J 

presented itself even with greater vivacity and 
strength than at the period of its birth. Ferdinand 
now fancied that he could trace Emily in the pretty 
girl with flaxen hair. The more he reflected on 
her figure, her eyes, the sound of her voice, the 
grace with which she moved ; the more striking 
the resemblance appeared to him. The piercing 
shriek that had escaped her, when he mentioned 
the old count's explication of the phantom's ap- 
pearance; her sudden disappearance at the termi- 
nation of the recital; her connection with Fer- 
dinand's family, (for the young lady, in her history 
of Juliana, had recounted the fatal accident which 
actually befel Ferdinand's sister,) all gave a degree 
of certainty to his suppositions. 

He passed the night in forming projects and 
plans, in resolving doubts and difficulties ; and Fer- 
dinand impatiently waited for the day which was 
to enlighten him. He went to the pastor's, whom 
he found in the midst of his quires of music ; and 
by giving a natural turn to the conversation, he 
seized the opportunity of enquiring concerning the 
persons with whom he had passed the preceding 
evening. 

He unfortunately, however, couicl not get satis- 
factory answers to his questions concerning the 
young lady with flaxen hair, and the mysterious old 
gentleman ; for the pastor had been so absorbed in 



30 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

his music, that he had not paid attention to many 
persons who had visited him : and though Ferdi- 
nand in the most minute manner possible described 
their dress and other particulars, it was impossible 
to make the pastor comprehend the individuals 
whose names he was so anxious to learn. " It is 
unfortunate," said the pastor, " that my wife should 
be out ; she would have given you all the infor- 
mation you desire. But according to your descrip- 
tion, it strikes me the young person with flaxen 
hair must be Mademoiselle de Hainthal ; — but — " 

" Mademoiselle de Hainthal !" reiterated Fer- 
dinand, somewhat abruptly. 

" I think so," replied the clergyman. "Are you 
acquainted with the young lady ?" 

" I know her family," answered Ferdinand ; 
" but from her features bearing so strong a resem- 
blance to the family, I thought it might have been 
the young countess of Wartbourg, who was so 
much like her brother." 

" That is very possible," said the pastor. " You 
knew then the unfortunate count Wartbourg ?" 

"Unfortunate!" exclaimed Ferdinand, greatly 
surprised. 

" You don't then know any thing," continued 
the pastor, " of the deplorable event that has re- 
cently taken place at the chateau of Wartbourg i 
The young count, who had probably in his travels 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 31 

seen some beautifully laid-out gardens, was anxious 
to embellish the lovely country which surrounds 
his chateau; and as the ruins of an old tower 
seemed to be an obstacle to his plans, he ordered 
them to be pulled down. His gardener in vain 
represented to him, that seen from one of the wings 
of the chateau they presented, at the termination 
of a majestic and ancient avenue of linden trees, a 
magnificent coup d'ceil, and that they would also 
give a more romantic appearance to the new parts 
they were about to form. An old servant, grown 
grey in the service of his forefathers, supplicated 
him with tears in his eyes to spare the venerable 
remains of past ages. They even told him of an 
ancient tradition, preserved in the neighbourhood, 
which declared, that the existence of the house of 
Wartbourg was by supernatural means linked with 
the preservation of that tower. 

" The count, who was a well-informed man, paid 
no attention to these sayings ; indeed they possibly 
made him the more firmly adhere to his resolution. 
The workmen were put to their task : the walls, 
which were constructed of huge masses of rock, 
for a long while resisted the united efforts of tools 
and gunpowder ; the architect of this place ap- 
peared to have built it for eternity. 

" At length perseverance and labour brought it 
down. A piece of the rock separating from the 



32 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

rest, precipitated itself into an opening which had 
been concealed for ages by rubbish and loose 
sticks, and fell into a deep cavern. An immense 
subterranean vault was discovered by the rays of 
the setting sun, supported by enormous pillars :-— 
but ere they proceeded in their researches, they 
went to inform the young count of the discovery 
they had made. 

" He came; and being curious to see this dark 
abode, descended into it with two servants. The 
first thing they discovered were chains covered with 
rust, which being fixed in the rock, plainly shewed 
the use formerly made of the cavern. On another 
side was a corpse, dressed in female attire of cen- 
turies past, which had surprisingly resisted the 
ravages of time : close to it was extended a human 
skeleton almost destroyed. 

" The two servants related that the young 
count, on seeing the body, cried in an accent of 
extreme horror, l Great God ! it is she then whose 
portrait killed my intended wife/ Saying which, 
he fell senseless by the body. The shake which 
his fall occasioned reduced the skeleton to dust. 

*" They bore the count to his chateau, where 
the care of the physicians restored him to life ; 
but he did not recover his senses. It is pro- 
bable that this tragical event was caused by the 
confined and unwholesome air of the cavern. A 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. S3 

very few days after, the count died in a state of 
total derangement. 

" It is singular enough, that the termination of his 
life should coincide with the destruction of the ruin- 
ed tower, and there no longer exists any male branch 
of that family. The deeds relative to the succes- 
sion, ratified and sealed by the emperor Otho, are 
still amongst the archives of his house. Their con- 
tents have as yet only been transmitted verbally 
from father to son, as an hereditary secret, which 
will now, however, be made known. It is also 
true, that the affianced bride of the count was 
killed by the portrait's falling on her." 

" I yesterday heard that fatal history recited by 
the lady with flaxen hair," replied Ferdinand. 

" It is very possible that young person is the 
countess Emily," replied the pastor ; " for she was 
the bosom-friend of the unfortunate bride." 

" Does not then the countess Emily live at the 
castle of Wartbourg ?" asked Ferdinand. 

" Since her brother's death," answered the cler- 
gyman, " she has lived with a relation of her 
mother's at the chateau of Libinfelt, a short 
distance from hence. For as they yet know not 
with certainty to whom the castle of Wartbourg 
will belong, she prudently lives retired." 

Ferdinand had learnt sufficient to make him 
abandon the projected journey to the capital. H<; 



34 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

thanked the pastor for the instructions he had 
given him, and was conducted to the chateau 
where Emily now resided. 

It was still broad day when he arrived. The 
whole journey he was thinking of the amiable figure 
which he had recognised too late the preceding 
evening. He recalled to his idea her every word, the 
sound of her voice, her actions ; and what his me- 
mory failed to represent, his imagination depicted 
with all the vivacity of youth, and all the fire of re- 
kindled affection. He already addressed secret re- 
proaches to Emily for not recognising him ; as if 
he had himself remembered her ; and in order to 
ascertain whether his features were entirely effaced 
from the recollection of her whom he adored, he 
caused himself to be announced as a stranger, who 
was anxious to see her on family matters. 

While waiting impatiently in the room into 
which they had conducted him, he discovered 
among the portraits with which it was decorated, 
that of the young lady whose features had the 
over-night charmed him anew : he was contem- 
plating it with rapture when the door opened and 
Emily entered. She instantly recognised Ferdi- 
nand; and in the sweetest accents accosted him as 
the friend of her youth. 

Surprise rendered Ferdinand incapable of an- 
swering suitably to so gracious a reception : it was 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 35 

not the charming person with flaxen hair ; it was 
not a figure corresponding with his imagination, 
which at this moment presented itself to his view. 
But it was Emily, shining in every possible beauty, 
far beyond what Ferdinand had expected : he re- 
collected notwithstanding each feature which had 
already charmed him, but now clothed in every 
perfection which nature bestows on her most fa- 
voured objects. Ferdinand was lost in thought 
for some moments : he dared not make mention of 
his love, and still less did he dare speak of the por- 
trait, and the other wonders of the castle of Wart- 
bourg. Emily spoke only of the happiness she 
had experienced in her earlier days, and slightly- 
mentioned her brother's death. 

As the evening advanced, the young female with 
flaxen hair came in with the old stranger. Emily 
presented them both to Ferdinand, as the baron of 
Hainthal and his daughter Clotilde, They remem- 
bered instantly the stranger whom they had seen 
the preceding evening. Clotilde rallied him on his 
wish to be incognito ; and he found himself on a 
sudden, by a short train of natural events, in the 
company of the person whom his mother intended 
for his wife; the object of his affection whom he 
had just discovered; and the interesting stranger 
who had promised him an explanation relative to 
the mysterious portraits. 

I) 2 



36 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

Their society was soon augmented by the mis- 
tress of the Chdteau, in whom Ferdinand recog- 
nised one of those who sat by his side the pre- 
ceding evening. In consideration for Emily, they 
omitted all the subjects most interesting to Ferdi- 
nand ; but after supper the baron drew nearer to 
him. 

" I doubt not," said he to him, " that you are 
anxious to have some light thrown on events, of 
which, according to your recital last night, you 
were a spectator. I knew you from the first ; and 
I knew also, that the story you related as of a 
friend, was your own history. I cannot, however, 
inform you of more than I know : but that will 
perhaps be sufficient to save Emily, for whom I 
feel the affection of a daughter, from chagrin and 
uneasiness ; and from your recital of last evening, I 
perceive you take a lively interest concerning her." 

" Preserve Emily from uneasiness," replied Fer- 
dinand with warmth ; " explain yourself: what is 
there I ought to do ?" 

" We cannot," answered the baron, " converse 
here with propriety ; to-morrow morning I will 
come and see you in your apartment." 

Ferdinand asked him for an audience that night ; 
but the baron was inflexible. " It is not my wish," 
said he, " to work upon your imagination by any 
marvellous recital, but to converse with you on the 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 37 

very important concerns of two distinguished fami- 
lies. For which reason, I think the freshness of 
morning will be better suited to lessen the horror 
that my recital must cause you : therefore, if not 
inconvenient to you, I wish you to attend me at an 
early hour in the morning: I am fond of rising with 
the sun ; and yet I have never found the time till 
mid-day too long for arranging my affairs," added 
he, smiling, and turning half round towards the rest 
of the party, as if speaking on indifferent topics. 

Ferdinand passed a night of agitation, thinking 
of the conference he was to have with the baron ; 
who was at his window at dawn of day. " You 
know/' said the baron, " that I married the old count 
of Wartbourg's sister; which alliance was less the 
cause, than the consequence, of our intimate friend- 
ship. We reciprocally communicated our most 
secret thoughts, and the one never undertook any 
thing, without the other taking an equal interest 
with himself in his projects. The count had, how- 
ever, one secret from me, of which I should never 
have come at the knowledge but for an accident. 

" On a sudden, a report was spread abroad, that 
the phantom of the Nun's rock had been seen, 
which was the name given by the peasantry to the 
old ruined tower which you knew. Persons of 
sense only laughed at the report: I was anxious 
the following night to unmask this spectre, and I 



S8 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

already anticipated my triumph : but to my no 
small surprise, the count endeavoured to dissuade 
me from the attempt; and the more I persisted, the 
more serious his arguments became ; and at length 
he conjured me in the name of friendship to re- 
linquish the design. 

" His gravity of manner excited my attention ; I 
asked him several questions; I even regarded his 
fears in the light of disease, and urged him to take 
suitable remedies : but he answered me with an air 
of chagrin, ' Brother, you know my sincerity to- 
wards you ; but this is a secret sacred to my family. 
My son can alone be informed of it, and that only 
on my death-bed. Therefore ask me no more 
questions/ 

" I held my peace ; but I secretly collected all 
the traditions known amongst the peasantry. The 
most generally believed one was, that the phantom 
of the Nun's rock was seen when any one of the 
count's family were about to die ; and in effect, in 
a few days after the count's youngest son expired. 
The count seemed to apprehend it : he gave the 
strictest possible charge to the nurse to take care 
of him; and under pretext of feeling indisposed 
himself, sent for two physicians to the castle : but 
these extreme precautions were precisely the cause 
of the child's death ; for the nurse passing over the 
stones near the ruins, in her extreme care took the 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 39 

child in her arms to carry him, and her foot slip- 
ping, she fell, and in her fall wounded the child so 
much, that he expired on the spot. She said she 
fancied that she saw the child extended, bleeding 
in the midst of the stones; that her fright had made 
her fall with her face on the earth; and that when 
she came to herself, the child was absolutely lying 
weltering in his blood, precisely on the same spot 
where she had seen his ghost. 

" I will not tire you with a relation of all the 
sayings uttered by an illiterate woman to explain 
the cause of the vision, for under similar accidents 
invention far outstrips reality. I could not expect 
to gain much more satisfactory information from 
the family records; for the principal documents 
were preserved in an iron chest, the key of which 
was never out of the possession of the owner of the 
castle. I however discovered, by the genealogical 
register and other similar papers, that this family 
had never had collateral male branches ; but fur- 
ther than this, my researches could not discover. 

" At length, on my friend's death-bed I obtained 
some information, which, however, was far from 
being satisfactory. You remember, that while the 
son was on his travels, the father was attacked by 
the complaint which carried him off so suddenly. 
The evening previous to his decease, he sent for 
me express, dismissed all those who were with 



40 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

him, and turning towards me, said : ' I am aware 
that my end is fast approaching, and am the first 
of my family that has been carried off without 
communicating to his son the secret on which the 
safety of our house depends. Swear to me to reveal 
it only to my son, and I shall die contented/ 

" In the names of friendship and honour, I pro- 
mised what he exacted of me, and he thus began : 

" ' The origin of my race, as you know, is not to 
be traced. Ditmar, the first of my ancestry men- 
tioned in the written records, accompanied the em- 
peror Otho to Italy. His history is also very ob- 
scure. He had an enemy called count Bruno, whose 
only son he killed in revenge, according to ancient 
tradition, and then kept the father confined till his 
death in that tower, whose ruins, situated in the 
Nun's rock, still defy the hand of time. That portrait 
which hangs alone in the state-chamber, is Dit- 
mar's ; and if the traditions of the family are to be 
believed, it was painted by the Dead. In fact, it 
is almost impossible to believe that any human 
being could have contemplated sufficiently long to 
paint the portrait, the outline of features so hideous. 
My forefathers have frequently tried to plaster 
over this redoubtable figure ; but in the night, the 
colours came through the plaster, and re- appeared 
as distinctly as before ; and often in the night, this 
Ditmar has been seen wandering abroad dressed in 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 41 

the garb represented in the picture; and by kissing 
the descendants of the family, has doomed them to 
death. Three of my children have received this 
fatal kiss. It is said, a monk imposed on him 
this penance in expiation of his crimes. But he 
cannot destroy all the children of his race : for so 
long as the ruins of the old tower shall remain, 
and whilst one stone shall remain on another, so 
long shall the count de Wartbourg's family exist ; 
and so long shall the spirit of Ditmar wander on 
earth, and devote to death the branches of his 
house, without being able to annihilate the trunk'. 
His race will never be extinct; and his punishment 
will only cease when the ruins of the tower are en- 
tirely dispersed. He brought up, with a truly pa- 
ternal care, the daughter of his enemy, and wedded 
her to a rich and powerful knight; but notwith- 
standing this, the monk never remitted his pe- 
nance. Ditmar, however, foreseeing that one day 
or other his race would perish, was certainly anxi- 
ous ere then, to prepare for an event on which his 
deliverance depended; and accordingly made a re- 
lative disposition of his hereditary property, in case 
of his family becoming extinct. The act which 
contained his will, was ratified by the emperor 
Otho : as yet it has not been opened, and nobody 
knows its contents. It is kept in the secret ar- 
chives of our house/ 



42 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" The speaking thus much was a great effort to 
ray friend. He required a little rest, but was 
shortly after incapable of articulating a single 
word. I performed the commission with which 
he charged me to his son." 

" And he did, notwithstanding " replied 

Ferdinand. 

" Even so," answered the baron : " but judge 
more favourably of your excellent friend. I have of- 
ten seen him alone in the great state-chamber, with 
his eyes fixed on this horrible portrait : he would 
then go into the other rooms, where the portraits 
of his ancestors were ranged for several successive 
generations ; and after contemplating them with 
visible internal emotion, would return to that of the 
founder of his house. Broken sentences, and fre- 
quent soliloquies, which I overheard by accident, 
did not leave me a shadow of doubt, but that he 
was the first of his race who had magnanimity of 
soul sufficient to resolve on liberating the spirit of 
Ditmar from its penance, and of sacrificing himself 
to release his house from the malediction that 
hung over it. Possibly he was strengthened in his 
resolutions by the grief he experienced for the 
death of his dearly beloved." 

" Oh !" cried Ferdinand deeply affected, " how 
like my friend !" 

" He had, however;* in the ardour of his en- 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 43 

tliusiasm, forgotten to guard his sister's sensibi- 
lity," said the baron. 

" How so ?" demanded Ferdinand. 

" It is in consequence of this," answered the 
baron, " that I now address myself to you, and re- 
veal to you the secret. I have told you that Dit- 
mar demonstrated a paternal affection to the daugh- 
ter of his enemy, had given her a handsome portion, 
and had married her to a valiant knight. Learn 
then, that this knight was Adelbert de Meltheim, 
from whom the counts of this name descended in 
a direct line." 

" Is it possible?" exclaimed Ferdinand, " the 
author of my race !" * 

" The same," answered the baron ; " and ac- 
cording to appearances, Ditmar designed that the 
family of Meltheim should succeed him on the 
extinction of his own. Haste, then, in order to 
establish your probable right to the " 

" Never " said Ferdinand " so long as 

Emily " 

" This is no more than I expected from you," 
replied the baron; " but remember, that in Dit- 
mar's time the girls were not thought of in deeds 
of this kind. Your inconsiderate generosity would 
be prejudicial to Emily. For the next of kin who 
lay claim to the fief, do not probably possess very 
gallant ideas." 

" As a relation, though only on the female side, 



44 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

I have taken the necessary measures; and I think it 
light you should be present at the castle of Wart- 
bourg when the seals are broken, that you may 
be immediately recognised as the only immediate 
descendant of Adelbert, and that you may take in- 
stant possession of the inheritance/' 

" And Emily ?" demanded Ferdinand. 

"As for what is to be done for her," replied the 
baron, "I leave to you; and feel certain of her be- 
ing provided for suitably, since her destiny will be 
in the hands of a man whose birth equals her own, 
who knows how to appreciate the rank in which 
she is placed, and who will evince his claims to 
merit and esteem." 

" Have I a right, then," said Ferdinand, " to flat- 
ter myself with the hope that Emily will permit 
me to surrender her the property to which she is 
actually entitled ?" 

" Consult Emily on the subject," said the baron. 
—And here finished the conference. 

Ferdinand, delighted, ran to Emily. She answer- 
ed with the same frankness he had manifested; and 
they were neither of them slow to confess their 
mutual passion. 

Several days passed in this amiable delirium. 
The inhabitants of the chateau participated in the 
joy of the young lovers ; and Ferdinand at length 
wrote to his mother, to announce the choice he had 
made. 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 45 

They were occupied in preparations for remov- 
ing to the castle of Wartbourg, when a letter ar- 
rived, which at once destroyed Ferdinand's happi- 
ness. His mother refused to consent to his mar- 
riage with Emily : her husband having, she said, on 
his death- bed, insisted on his wedding the baron of 
Hainthal's daughter, and that she should refuse her 
consent to any other marriage. He had discovered 
a family secret, which forced him peremptorily 
to press this point, on which depended his son's 
welfare, and the happiness of his family ; she had 
given her promise, and was obliged to maintain it, 
although much afflicted at being compelled to act 
contrary to her son's inclinations. 

In vain did Ferdinand conjure his mother to 
change her determination ; he declared to her that 
he would be the last of his race, rather than re- 
nounce Emily. She was not displeased with his 
entreaties, but remained inflexible. 

The baron plainly perceived, from Ferdinand's 
uneasiness and agitation, that his happiness had fled ; 
and as he possessed his entire confidence, he soon 
became acquainted with the cause of his grief. He 
wrote in consequence to the countess Meltheim, 
and expressed his astonishment at the singular 
disposition the count had made on his death-bed : 
but all he could obtain from her, was a promise to 
come to the castle of Wartbourg, to see the fe- 



46 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

male whom she destined for her son, and the one 
whom he had himself chosen ; and probably to 
elucidate by her arrival so singular and compli- 
cated an affair. 

Spring was beginning to enliven all nature, when 
Ferdinand, accompanied by Emily, the baron, and 
his daughter, arrived at the castle of Wartbourg. 
The preparations which the principal cause of their 
journey required, occupied some days. Ferdinand 
and Emily consoled themselves in the hope that 
the countess of Meltheim's presence would remove 
every obstacle which opposed their love, and that 
at sight of the two lovers she would overcome her 
scruples. 

A few days afterwards she arrived, embraced 
Emily in the most affectionate manner, and called 
her, her dear daughter, at the same time express- 
ing her great regret that she could not really 
consider her such, being obliged to fulfil a promise 
made to her dying husband. 

The baron at length persuaded her to reveal the 
motive for this singular determination : and after 
deliberating a short time, she thus expressed her- 
self:— 

u . The secret you are anxious I should reveal to 
you, concerns your family, Monsieur le Baron : 
consequently, if you release me from the necessity 
of longer silence, I am very willing to abandon my 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 47 

scruples. A fatal picture has, you know, robbed 
me of my daughter; and my husband, after this me- 
lancholy accident, determined on entirely remov- 
ing this unfortunate portrait : he accordingly gave 
orders for it to be put in a heap of old furniture, 
where no one would think of looking for it; and in 
order to discover the best place to conceal it, he 
was present when it was taken there. In the re- 
moval, he perceived a piece of parchment behind 
the canvass which the fall had a little damaged: 
having removed it, he discovered it to be an old do- 
cument, of a singular nature. The original of this 
portrait, (said the deed,) was called Bertha de 
Hainthal; she fixes her looks on her female de- 
scendants, in order that if any one of them should 
receive its death by this portrait, it may prove an 
expiatory sacrifice which will reconcile her to 
God. She will then see the families of Hainthal 
and Meltheim united by the bonds of love ; and 
finding herself released, she will have cause to re- 
joice in the birth of her after-born descendants. 

" This then is the motive which made my hus- 
band anxious to fulfil, by the projected marriage, 
the vows of Bertha ; for the death of his daughter, 
caused by Bertha, had rendered her very name for- 
midable to him. You see, therefore, I have the 
same reasons for adhering to the promise made 
my dying husband." 



4S TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" Did not the count," demanded the baron, 
u allege any more positive reason for this com- 
mand ?" 

" Nothing more, most assuredly," replied the 
countess. 

" Well then," answered the baron, " in case the 
writing of which you speak should admit of an ex- 
planation wholly differing from, but equally clear 
with, the one attached thereto by the deceased, 
would you sooner follow the sense than the letter 
of the writing ?" 

" There is no doubt on that subject," answered 
the countess ; " for no one is more anxious than 
myself to see that unfortunate promise set aside." 

" Know then," said the baron, " that the corpse 
of that Bertha, who occasioned the death of your 
daughter, reposes here at Wartbourg; and that, on 
this subject, as well as all the other mysteries of 
the castle, we shall have our doubts satisfied." 

The baron would not at this time explain him- 
self further; but said to the countess, that the do- 
cuments contained in the archives of the castle 
would afford the necessary information; and recom- 
mended that Ferdinand should, with all possible 
dispatch, hasten every thing relative to the succes- 
sion. Conformable to the baron's wish, it was re- 
quisite that, previous to any other research, the 
secret deeds contained in the archives should be 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 4$ 

opened. The law commissioners, and the next of kin 
who were present, who, most likely, promised them- 
selves an ample compensation for their curiosity 
in the contents of the other parts of the records, 
were anxious to raise objections ; but the baron re- 
presented to them, that the secrets of the family 
appertained to the unknown heir alone, and that 
consequently no One had a right to become ac- 
quainted with them, unless permitted by him. 

These reasons produced the proper effect. They 
followed the baron into the immense vault in 
which were deposited the family records. They 
therein discovered an iron chest, which had not 
been opened for nearly a thousand years. A mas- 
sive chain, which several times wound round it, 
was strongly fixed to the floor and to the wall; but 
the emperor's grand seal was a greater security for 
this sacred deposit, than all the chains and bolts 
which guarded it. It was instantly recognised and 
removed : the strong bolts yielded ; and from the 
chest was taken the old parchment which had re- 
sisted the effects of time. This piece contained, 
as the baron expected, the disposition which con- 
firmed the right of inheritance to the house of 
Meltheim, in case of the extinction of the house of 
Wartbourg: and Ferdinand, according to the baron's 
advice, having in readiness the deeds justifying and 
acknowledging him as the lawful heir to the house 



50 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

of Meltheim, the next of kin with regret permit- 
ted what they could not oppose; and he took pos- 
session of the inheritance. The baron having made 
him a signal, he immediately sealed the chest with 
his seal. He afterwards entertained the strangers 
in a splendid manner; and at night found himself 
in possession of his castle, with only his mother, 
Emily, the baron, and his daughter. 

" It will be but just," said the baron, " to de- 
vote this night, which introduces a new name into 
this castle, to the memory of those who have 
hitherto possessed it. And we shall acquit our- 
selves most suitably in, this duty, by reading in the 
council-chamber the documents which, without 
doubt, are destined to explain, as supplementary 
deeds, the will of Ditmar." 

This arrangement was instantly adopted. The 
hearts of Emily and Ferdinand were divided be-< 
tween hope and fear; for they impatiently, yet 
doubtingly, awaited the denouement of Bertha's 
history, which, after so many successive genera- 
tions, had in so incomprehensible a manner inter- 
fered with their attachment. 

The chamber was lighted : Ferdinand opened 
the iron case; and the baron examined the old 
parchments. 

" This," cried he, after having searched some 
short time, " will inform us." So saying, he drew 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 51 

from the chest some sheets of parchment. On the 
one which enveloped the rest was the portrait of 
a knight of an agreeable figure, and habited in the 
costume of the tenth century : and the inscription 
at the bottom called him Ditmar ; but they could 
scarcely discover the slightest resemblance in it to 
the frightful portrait in the state-chamber. 

The baron offered to translate, in reading to them 
the document written in Latin, provided they 
would make allowances for the errors which were 
likely to arise from so hasty a translation. The cu- 
riosity of his auditors was so greatly excited, that 
they readily consented ; and he then read as follows : 
" I the undersigned Tutilon, monk of St. Gall, 
have, with the lord Ditmar's consent, written the 
following narrative : I have omitted nothing, nor 
written aught of my own accord. 

" Being sent for to Metz, to carve in stone the 
image of the Virgin Mary ; and that mother of our 
blessed Saviour having opened my eyes and direct- 
ed my hands, so that I could contemplate her ce- 
lestial countenance, and represent it on stone to be 
worshipped by true believers, the lord Ditmar dis- 
covered me, and engaged me to follow him to his 
castle, in order that I might execute his portrait 
for his descendants. I began painting it in the 
state-chamber of his castle ; and on returning the 
following day to resume my task, I found that a 

E 2 



53 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

strange hand had been at work, and had given to 
the portrait quite a different countenance, which 
was horrible to look at, for it resembled one who 
had risen from the dead. I trembled with terror: 
however, I effaced these hideous features, and I 
painted anew the count Ditmar's figure, according 
to my recollection ; but the following day I again 
discovered the nocturnal labour of the stranger 
hand. I was seized with still greater fear, but re- 
solved to watch during the night ; and I recom- 
menced painting the knight's figure, such as it really 
was. At midnight I took a torch, and advancing 
softly into the chamber to examine the portrait, I 
perceived a spectre resembling the skeleton of a 
child ; it held a pencil, and was endeavouring to give 
Ditmar's image the hideous features of death. 

" On my entering, the spectre slowly turned its 
head towards me, that I might see its frightful 
visage. My terror became extreme : I advanced no 
further, but retired to my room, where I remained 
in prayer till morning; for I was unwilling to inter- 
rupt the work executed in the dead of night. In 
the morning, discovering the same strange features 
in Ditmar's portrait as that of the two preceding 
mornings, I did not again risk effacing the work of 
the nightly painter; but went in search of the 
knight, and related to him what 1 had seen. I 
shewed him the picture. He trembled with hor- 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 53 

ror, and confessed his crimes to ine, for which ht 
required absolution. Having for three successive 
days invoked all the saints to my assistance, I im- 
posed on him as a penance for the murder of his 
enemy, which he had avowed to me, to submit to 
the most rigid mortifications in a dungeon during 
the rest of his life. But I told him, that as he had 
murdered an innocent child, his spirit would never 
be at rest till it had witnessed the extermination of 
his race ; for the Almighty would punish the death 
of that child by the death of the children of Dit- 
mar, who, with the exception of one in each gene- 
ration, would all be carried off in early life ; and 
as for him, his spirit would wander during the 
night, resembling the portrait painted by the hand 
of the skeleton child; and that he would condemn to 
death, by a kiss, the children who were the sacri- 
fices to his crimes, in the same manner as he had 
given one to his enemy's child before he killed it : 
and that, in fine, his race should not become ex- 
tinct, so long as stone remained on stone in the 
tower where he had permitted his enemy to die of 
hunger. I then gave him absolution. He imme- 
diately made over his seigniory to his son ; and 
married the daughter of his enemy, who had been 
brought up by him, to the brave knight Sir Adal- 
bert. He bequeathed all his property, in case of 
his race becoming extinct, to this knight's descend- 



54 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ants, and caused this will to be ratified by the em- 
peror Otho. After having done so, he retired to a 
cave near the tower, where his corpse is interred ; 
for he died like a pious recluse, and expiated his 
crimes by extreme penance. As soon as he was 
laid in his coffin, he resembled the portrait in the 
state-chamber ; but during his life he was like the 
portrait depicted on this parchment, which I was 
able to paint without interruption, after having 
given him absolution : and by his command I have 
written and signed this document since his death ; 
and I deposit it, with the emperor's letters pa- 
tent, in an iron chest, which I have caused to be 
sealed. I pray God speedily to deliver his soul, 
and to cause his body to rise from the dead to 
everlasting felicity !" 

" He is delivered," cried Emily, greatly affected; 
u and his image will no longer spread terror 
around. But I confess that the sight of that figure, 
and even that of the frightful portrait itself, would 
never have led me to dream of such horrible 
crimes as the monk Tutilon relates. Certain I 
am, his enemy must have mortally wounded his 
happiness, or he undoubtedly would have been in- 
capable of committing such frightful crimes." 

" Possibly," said the baron, continuing'his re- 
searches, " we shall discover some explanation on 
that point." 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 55 

" We must also find some respecting Bertha," 
replied Ferdinand in a low tone, and casting a ti- 
mid look on Emily and his mother. 

" This night," answered the baron, " is conse- 
crated to the memory of the dead; let us therefore 
forget our own concerns, since those of the past 
call our attention." 

" Assuredly," exclaimed Emily, " the unfortu- 
nate person who secured these sheets in the chest, 
ardently looked forward to the hope of their com- 
ing to light ; let us therefore delay it no longer." 

The baron, after having examined several, read 
aloud these words : 

" The confession of Ditmar." And he continued 
thus : — " Peace and health. When this sheet is 
drawn from the obscurity in which it is now buried, 
my soul will, I hope firmly in God and the saints, 
*be at eternal rest and peace. But for your good 
I have ordered to be committed to paper the 
cause of my chastisement, in order that you may 
learn that vengeance belongs to God alone, and 
not to men; for the most just amongst them knows 
not how to judge : and again, that you may not in 
your heart condemn me, but rather that you may 
pity me ; for my misery has nearly equalled my 
crimes ; and my spirit would never have dreamt of 
evil, if man had not rent my heart." 



56 



TALES OF THE DEAD. 



" How justly," exclaimed Ferdinand, " has 
Emily's good sense divined thus much !" 

The baron continued : " My name is Ditmar; 
they surnamed me The Rich, though I was then 
only a poor knight, and my only possession was a 
yery small castle. When the emperor Otho de- 
parted for Italy, whither he was called by the 
beautiful Adelaide to receive her hand, I followed 
him ; and I gained the affection of the most charm- 
ing woman in Pavia, whom I conducted as my in- 
tended spouse to the castle of my forefathers. Al- 
ready the day appointed for the celebration of my 
nuptials was at hand : the emperor sent for me. 
His favourite, the count Bruno de Hainthal had 
seen Bertha " 

" Bertha !" exclaimed every one present. But 
the baron, without permitting them to interrupt 
him, continued his translation. 

" One day, when the emperor had promised to 
grant him any recompence that he thought his ser- 
vices merited, he asked of him my intended bride. 
Otho was mute with astonishment ;— but his impe- 
rial word was given. I presented myself before 
the emperor, who offered me riches, lands, ho- 
nours, if I would but consent to yield Bertha to the 
count: but she was dearer to me than every 
worldly good. The emperor yielded to a torrent of 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 57 

anger : he carried off my intended bride by force, 
ordered my castle to be pulled down, and caused 
me to be thrown into prison. 

"I cursed his power and my destiny. The ami- 
able figure of Bertha, however, appeared to me 
in a dream ; and 1 consoled myself during the clay 
by the sweet illusions of the night. At length my 
keeper said to me : 'I pity you, Ditmar; you suffer 
in a prison for your fidelity, while Bertha aban- 
dons you. To-morrow she weds the count : ac- 
cede then to the emperor's wish, ere it be too 
late ; and ask of him what you think fit, as a re- 
compence for the loss of the faithless fair.' These 
words froze my heart. The following night, in- 
stead of the gracious image of Bertha, the fright- 
ful spirit of vengeance presented itself to me. The 
following morning I said to my keeper : Go and tell 
the emperor, I yield Bertha to his Bruno ; but as 
a recompence, I demand this tower, and as much 
land as will be requisite to build me a new castle/ 
The emperor was satisfied ; for he frequently re- 
pented his violent passions, but he could not alter 
what he had already decided. He therefore gave 
me the tower in which I had been confined, and all 
the lands around it for the space of four leagues. 
He also gave me more gold and silver than was 
sufficient to build a castle much more magnificent 
than the one he had caused to be pulled down. I 



58 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

took unto myself a wife, in order to perpetuate my 
race ; but Bertha still reigned sole mistress of my 
heart. I also built myself a castle, from which I 
made a communication, by subterranean and secret 
passages, with my former prison the tower, and 
with the castle of Bruno, the residence of my mor- 
tal enemy. As soon as the edifice was completed, 
I entered the fortress by the secret passage, and 
appeared as the spirit of one of his ancestors be- 
fore the bed of his son, the heir with which Ber- 
tha had presented him. The women who lay be- 
side him were seized with fear : I leaned over the 
child, who was the precise image of its mother, 
and kissed its forehead ; but — it was the kiss of 
death ; it carried with it a secret poison. 

" Bruno and Bertha acknowledged the ven- 
geance of Heaven : they received it as a punishment 
for the wrongs they had occasioned me ; and they 
devoted their first child to the service of God. As 
it was a girl, I spared it: but Bertha had no 
more children ; and Bruno, irritated to find his race 
so nearly annihilated, repudiated his wife, as if he 
repented the injustice of which he had been guilty 
in taking her, and married another. The unfortu- 
nate Bertha took refuge in a monastery, and con- 
secrated herself to Heaven : but her reason fled ; and 
one night she quitted her retreat, came to the tower 
in which I had been confined in consequence of 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 59 

her perfidy, there bewailed her crime, and there 
grief terminated her existence ; which circumstance 
gave rise to that tower being called the Nun's 
Rock. I heard, during the night, her sobs ; and on 
going to the tower found Bertha extended motion- 
less ; the dews of night had seized her : — she was 
dead, I then resolved to avenge her loss. I placed 
her corpse in a deep vault beneath the tower ; and 
having by means of my subterranean passage dis- 
covered all the count's movements, I attacked him 
when unguarded ; and dragging him to the vault 
which contained his wife's corpse, I there aban- 
doned him. The emperor, irritated against him for 
having divorced Bertha, gave me all his possessions, 
as a remuneration for the injustice I had heretofore 
experienced. 

" I caused all the subterranean passages to be 
closed. I took under my care his daughter Hil- 
degarde, and brought her up as my child : she 
loved the count Adalbert de Meltheim. But one 
night her mother's ghost appeared to her, and re- 
minded her that she was consecrated to the Al- 
mighty: this vision, however, could not deter 
her from marrying Adalbert. The night of her 
marriage the phantom appeared again before her 
bed, and thus addressed her : 

"' Since you have infringed the vow I made, my 



60 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

spirit can never be at rest, till one of your female 
descendants receives its death from me.' 

" This discourse occasioned me to send for the 
venerable Tutilon, monk of St. Gall, who was very 
celebrated, in order that he might paint a portrait 
of Bertha, as she had painted herself in the mo- 
nastery during her insanity; and I gave it to her 
daughter. 

" Tutilon concealed behind that portrait a 
writing on parchment, the contents of which were 
as follows : 

<( f I am Bertha ; and I look at my daughters, to 
see whether one of them will not die for me, in 
expiation of my crimes, and thus reconcile me to 
God. Then shall I see the two families of Mel- 
theim and Hainthal reunited by love, and in the birth 
of their descendants I shall enjoy happiness.' " 

" This then," exclaimed Ferdinand, " is the fa- 
tal writing that is to separate me from Emily; but 
which, in fact, only unites me to her more firmly ! 
and Bertha, delivered from her penance, blesses 
the alliance ; for by my marriage with Emily, the 
descendants of Bertha and Ditmar will be re- 
united." 

" Do you think," demanded the baron of the 
countess, " that this explanation can admit of the 
slightest doubt ?" 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 6*1 

The only answer the countess made, was by em- 
bracing Emily, and placing her hand in that of her 
son. 

The joy was universal. Clotilde in particular 
had an air of extreme delight; and her father several 
times, in a jocular manner, scolded her for express- 
ing he^oy so vehemently. The following morning 
they ^^kved the seals from the state-chamber, in 
order to contemplate the horrible portrait with 
somewhat less of sadness than heretofore : but 
they found that it had faded in a singular manner, 
and the colours, which formerly appeared so harsh, 
had blended and become softened. 

Shortly after arrived the young man who was 
anxious to enter into an argument with Ferdinand 
on the explication of the mysteries relative to the 
portraits. Clotilde did not conceal that he was far 
from indifferent to her ; and they discovered the 
joy she had evinced, in discovering the favourable 
turn Emily's attachment had taken, was not alto- 
gether disinterested, but occasioned by the prospect 
it afforded of happiness to herself. Her father, in 
fact, would never have approved her choice, had 
not the countess Meltheim removed all pretensions 
to Clotilde. 

" But/' asked Ferdinand of Clotilde 's intended, 
u do you not forgive our having searched into cer- 
tain mysteries which concerned us ?" 



G2 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" Completely," he answered ; " but not less dis- 
interestedly than formerly, when I maintained a 
contrary opinion. I ought now to confess to you, 
that I was present at the fatal accident which 
caused your sister's death, and that I then dis- 
covered the writing concealed behind the portrait. 
I naturally explained it as your father dkWfter- 
wards; but I held my peace ; for the con^Mfcnces 
have brought to light what the discovery of that 
writing had caused me to apprehend for my love." 

" Unsatisfactory explanations are bad," replied 
Ferdinand, laughing. 

The happy issue of these discoveries spread 
universal joy amongst the inhabitants of the castle, 
which was in some degree heightened by the 
beauty of the season. The lovers were anxious to 
celebrate their marriage ere the fall of the leaf. 
And when next the primrose's return announced 
the approach of spring, Emily gave birth to a 
charming boy. 

Ferdinand's mother, Clotilde and her husband, 
and all the friends of the family, among whom 
were the pastor who was so fond of music, and 
his pretty little wife, assembled at the fete given in 
honour of the christening. When the priest who 
was performing the ceremony asked what name he 
was to give the child, that of Ditmar was uttered 
by every mouth, as if they had previously agreed on 



THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. 63 

it. The christening over, Ferdinand, elate with 
joy, accompanied by his relations and guests, car- 
ried his son to the state-chamber, before his fore- 
father's portrait ; but it was no longer perceptible; 
the colours, figure, — all had disappeared ; not the 
slightest trace remained. 



4 



II. 

THE FATED HOUR. 

— — — " Wan the maiden was, 



Of saintly paleness, and there seem'd to dwelj 
In the strong beauties of her countenance j 
Something that was not earthly." 

Southey's Joan of Arc< 



welL 



*' The clock has toll'd ; and; hark! the bell 
Of death beats slow." Mason's Elegies. 



A heavy rain prevented the three friends from 
taking the morning's walk they had concerted : not- 
withstanding which, Amelia and Maria failed not 
to be at Florentina's house at the appointed hour. 
The latter had for some time past been silent, 
pensive, and absorbed in thought; and the anxiety 
of her friends made them very uneasy at the visible 
impression left on her mind by the violent tempest 
of the preceding night. 

Florentina met her friends greatly agitated, and 
embraced them with more than usual tenderness. 

" Fine weather for a walk !" cried Amelia: " how 
have you passed this dreadful night ?" 

" Not very well, you may easily imagine. My 
residence is in too lonely a situation." 



THE FATED HOUR. 65 

" Fortunately," replied Maria, laughing, " it 
will not long be yours." 

" That 's true," answered Florentina, sighing 
deeply. " The count returns from his travels to- 
morrow, in the hope of soon conducting me to the 
altar." 

" Merely in the hope ?" replied Maria : " the 
mysterious manner in which you uttered these 
words, leads me to apprehend you mean to frus- 
trate those hopes." 

" I ?— But how frequently in this life does 

hope prove only an untimely flower ?" 

" My dear Florentina," said Maria, embracing 
her, " for some time past my sister and I have 
vainly attempted to account for your lost gaiety ; 
and have been tormented with the idea, that possi- 
bly family reasons have induced you, contrary to 
your wishes, to consent to this marriage which is 
about to take place." 

" Family reasons ! Am I not then the last of our 
house ; the only remaining one, whom the tombs 
of my ancestors have not as yet enclosed ? And have 
I not for my Ernest that ardent affection which 
is natural to my time of life ? Or do you think me 
capable of such duplicity, when I have so recently 
depicted to you, in the most glowing colours, the 
man of my heart's choice ?" 

" What dien am I to believe ?" inquired Maria. 

F 



66 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" Is it not a strange contradiction, that a young 
girl, handsome and witty, rich and of high rank, 
and who, independently of these advantages, will 
not by her marriage be estranged from her family, 
should approach the altar with trembling ?" 

Florentina, holding out her hand to the two 
sisters, said to them : 

" How kind you are ! I ought really to feel 
quite ashamed in not yet having placed entire con- 
fidence in your friendship, even on a subject which 
is to me, at this moment, incomprehensible. At 
this moment I am not equal to the task ; but in the 
course of the day I hope to be sufficiently reco- 
vered. In the mean while let us talk on less in- 
teresting subjects." 

The violent agitation of Florentina's mind was 
so evident at this moment, that the two sisters 
willingly assented to her wishes. Thinking that 
the present occasion required trifling subjects of 
conversation, they endeavoured to joke with her on 
the terrors of the preceding night. However, Ma- 
ria finished by saying, with rather a serious air, — 

" I must confess, that more than once I have 
been tempted to think something extraordinary 
occurred. At first it appeared as if some one 
opened and shut the window of the room in which 
we slept, and then as if they approached my bed. 
I distinctly heard footsteps: an icy trembling 



THK FATED HOUR. 6? 

seized me, and I covered my face over with the 
clothes.'' 

u Alas !" exclaimed Amelia, " I cannot tell you 
how frequently I have heard similar noises. But 
as yet nothing have I seen." 

" Most fervently do 1 hope," replied FJoren- 
tina in an awful tone of voice, " that neither of 
you will ever, in this life, be subject to a proof of 
this nature !" 

The deep sigh which accompanied these words, 
and the uneasy look she cast on the two sisters, 
produced evident emotions in them both. 

" Possibly you have experienced such proof ?" 
replied Amelia. 

" Not precisely so : but suspend your cu- 
riosity. This evening if I am still alive — —I 

mean to say — that this evening I shall be better 
able to communicate all to you." 

Maria made a sign to Amelia, who instantly un- 
derstood her sister ; and thinking that Florentina 
wished to be alone, though evidently disturbed in 
her mind, they availed themselves of the first op- 
portunity which her silence afforded Her prayer- 
book was lying open on the table, which, now per- 
ceiving for the first time, confirmed Maria in the 
idea she had conceived. In looking for her shawl 
she removed a handkerchief which covered this 
book, and saw that the part which had most pro- 



OS TALES OF THE DEAD. 

bably occupied Florentina before their arrival 
was the Canticle on Death. The three friends se- 
parated, overcome and almost weeping, as if they 
were never to meet again. 

Amelia and Maria awaited with the greatest im- 
patience the hour of returning to Florentina. — 
They embraced her with redoubled satisfaction, 
for she seemed to them more gay than usual. 

" My dear girls," said she to them, " pardon, I 
pray you, my abstraction of this morning. De- 
pressed by having passed so bad a night, I thought 
myself on the brink of the grave ; and fancied it 
needful to make up my accounts in this world, and 
prepare for the next. I have made my will, and - 
have placed it in the magistrate's hands : however, 
since I have taken a little repose this afternoon, I 
find myself so strong, and in such good spirits, that 
I feel as if I had escaped the danger which threat- 
ened me." 

" But, my dear," replied Maria, in a mild yet 
affectionate tone of reproach, " how could one 
sleepless night fill your mind with such gloomy 
thoughts ?" 

" I agree with you on the folly of permitting it 
so to do ; and had I encouraged sinister thoughts, 
that dreadful night would not have been the sole 
cause, for it found me in such a frame of mind 
that its influence was not at all necessary to add to 



THE FATED HOUR. 6<) 

my horrors. But no more of useless mystery. I 
will fulfil my promise, and clear up your doubts 
on many parts of my manner and conduct, which 
at present must appear to you inexplicable. Pre- 
pare yourselves for the strangest and most surpris- 
ing events. — But the damp and cold evening air has 
penetrated this room, it will therefore be better to 
have a fire lighted, that the chill which my recital 
may produce be not increased by any exterior 
cause." 

While they were lighting the fire, Maria and 
her sister expressed great joy at seeing such a 
happy change in Florentina's manner ; and the lat- 
ter could scarcely describe the satisfaction she felt, 
at having resolved to develop to them the secret 
which she had so long concealed. 

The three friends being alone, Florentina began 
as follows : — 

" You were acquainted with my sister Seraphi- 
na, whom I had the misfortune to lose ; but I 
alone can boast of possessing her confidence; which 
js the cause of my mentioning many things relative 
to her, before I begin the history I have promised, 
in which she is the principal personage. 

" From her infancy, Seraphina was remarkable 
for several singularities. She was a year younger 
than myself; but frequently, while seated by her 
side I was amusing myself with the playthings 



70 TALES OF THE BEAD. 

common to our age, she would fix her eyes, by the 
half hour together, us if absorbed in thought : she 
seldom took any part in our infantine amusements. 
This disposition greatly chagrined our parents; for 
they attributed Seraphina's indifference to stupid- 
ity; and they were apprehensive this defect would 
necessarily prove an obstacle in the education re- 
quisite for the distinguished rank we held in so- 
ciety, my father being, next the prince, the first 
person in the country. They had already thought 
of procuring for her a canonry from some noble 
chapel, when things took an entirely different turn. 

u Her preceptor, an aged man, to whose care 
they had confided her at a very early age, assured 
them, that in his life he had never met with so 
astonishing an intellect as Seraphina's. My father 
doubted the assertion : but an examination, which 
he caused to be made in his presence, convinced 
him that it was founded in truth. 

" Nothing was then neglected to give Seraphina 
every possible accomplishment : -—masters of differ- 
ent languages, of music, and of dancing, every day 
filled the house. 

" But in a short time my father perceived that 
he was again mistaken : for Seraphina made so 
little progress in the study of the different lan- 
guages, that the masters shrugged their shoulders ; 
and the dancing-master pretended, that though her 



THE FATED HOUR. 71 

feet were extremely pretty, he could do nothing 
with them, as her head seldom took the trouble to 
guide them. 

" By way of retaliation, she made such won- 
derful progress in music that she soon excelled her 
masters. She sang in a manner superior to that 
of the best opera- singers. 

" My father acknowledged that his plans for 
the education of this extraordinary child were now 
as much too enlarged, as they were before too cir- 
cumscribed ; and that it would not do to keep too 
tight a hand over her, but let her follow the im- 
pulse of her own wishes. 

" This new arrangement afforded Seraphina the 
opportunity of more particularly studying the science 
of astronomy ; which was one they had never thought 
of as needful for her. You can, my friends, form 
but a very indifferent idea of the avidity with 
which (if so I may express myself) she devoured 
those books which treated on celestial bodies ; or 
what rapture the globes and telescopes occasioned 
her, when her father presented them to her on her 
thirteenth birth-day. 

" But the progress made in this science in our days 
did not long satisfy Seraphina' s curiosity. To my 
father's great grief, she was wrapped up in reveries 
of astrology ; and more than once she was found 
in the morning occupied in studying books which 



72 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

treated on the influence of the stars, and which she 
had begun to peruse the preceding evening. 

" My mother, being at the point of death, was 
anxious, I believe, to remonstrate with Seraphina 
on this whim ; but her death was too sudden. My 
father thought that at this tender age Seraphina's 
whimsical fancy would wear off: however, time 
passed on, and he found that she still remained 
constant to a study she had cherished from her in- 
fancy. 

11 You cannot forget the general sensation her 
beauty produced at court : how much the fashion- 
able versifiers of the day sang her graceful figure 
and beautiful flaxen locks ; and how often they 
failed, when they attempted to describe the parti- 
cular and indefinable character which distinguished 
her fine blue eyes. I must say, I have often em- 
braced my sister, whom T loved with the greatest 
affection, merely to have the pleasure of getting 
nearer, if possible, to her soft angelic eyes, from 
which Seraphina's pale countenance borrowed al- 
most all its sublimity. 

" She received many extremely advantageous 
proposals of marriage, but declined them all. You 
know her predilection in favour of solitude, and 
that she never went out but to enjoy my society. 
She took no pleasure in dress ; nay, she even 
avoided all occasions which required more than or- 



THE FATED HOUR. 73 

dinary expense. Those who were not acquainted 
with the singularity of her character might have 
accused her of affectation. 

" But a very extraordinary particularity, which 
I by chance discovered in her just as she at- 
tained her fifteenth year, created an impression of 
fear on my mind which will never be effaced. 

" On my return from making a visit, I found 
Seraphina in my father's cabinet, near the window, 
with her eyes fixed and immoveable. Accustomed 
from her earliest infancy to see her in this situa- 
tion, without being perceived by her I pressed her 
to my bosom, without producing on her the least 
sensation of my presence. At this moment I 
looked towards the garden, and I there saw my 
father walking with this same Seraphina whom I 
held in my arms. 

" In the name of God, my sister !" ex- 
claimed I, equally cold with the statue before me ; 
who now began to recover. 

"At the same time my eye involuntarily re- 
turned towards the garden, where I had seen her ; 
and there perceived my father alone, looking with 
uneasiness, as it appeared to me, for her, who, but 
an instant before, was with him. 1 endeavoured 
to conceal this event from my sister ; but in the 
most affectionate tone she loaded me with ques^ 
tions to learn the cause of my agitation. 



74 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" I eluded them as well as I could ; and asked 
her how long she had been in the closet. She an- 
swered me, smiling, that I ought to know best ; as 
she came in after me ; and that if she was not mis- 
taken, she had before that been walking in the gar- 
den with my father. 

" This ignorance of the situation in which she 
was but an instant before, did not astonish me on 
my sister's account, as she had often shewn proofs 
of this absence of mind. At that instant my fa- 
ther came in, exclaiming : ' Tell me, my dear Se- 
raphina, how you so suddenly escaped from my 
sight, and came here ? We were, as you know, con- 
versing; and scarcely had you finished speaking, 
when, looking round, I found myself alone. I na- 
turally thought that you had concealed yourself in 
the adjacent thicket ; but in vain I looked there for 
you; and on coming into this room, here I find 
you-' 

" i It is really strange/ replied Seraphina ; 6 1 
know not myself how it has happened.' 

" From that moment I felt convinced of what 
I had heard from several persons, but what my 
father always contradicted ; which was, that while 
Seraphina was in the house, she had been seen 
elsewhere. I secretly reflected also on what my 
sister had repeatedly told me, that when a child 
(she was ignorant whether sleeping or awake), she 



THE FATED HOUR. 75 

had been transported to heaven, where she had 
played with angels ; to which incident she attri- 
buted her disinclination to all infantine games. 

" My father strenuously combated this idea, as 
well as the event to which I had been witness, of 
her sudden disappearance from the garden. 

" ' Do not torment me any longer/ said he, 'with 
these phaenomena, which appear complaisantly re- 
newed every day, in order to gratify your eager 
imagination. It is true, that your sister's person 
and habits present many singularities ; but all your 
idle talk will never persuade me that she holds any 
immediate intercourse with the world of spirits.' 

" My father did not then know, that where there 
is any doubt of the future, the weak mind of man 
ought not to allow him to profane the word never, 
by uttering it. 

" About a year and half afterwards, an event 
occurred which had power to shake even my fa- 
ther's determined manner of thinking to its very 
foundation. It was on a Sunday, that Seraphina 
and I wished at last to pay a visit which we had 
from time to time deferred : for notwithstanding 

o 

my sister was very fond of being with me, she 
avoided even my society whenever she could not 
enjoy it but in the midst of a large assembly, 
where constraint destroyed all pleasure. 

" To adorn herself for a party, was to her an 



76 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

anticipated torment ; for she said, she only sub- 
mitted to this trouble to please those whose fri- 
volous and dissipated characters greatly offended 
her. On similar occasions she sometimes met 
with persons to whom she could not speak without 
shuddering, and whose presence made her ill for 
several days. 

" The hour of assembling approached ; she was 
anxious that I should go without her : my father 
doubting her, came into our room, and insisted on 
her changing her determination. 

" ' I cannot permit you to infringe every duty.' 

" He accordingly desired her to dress as quickly 
as possible, and accompany me. 

" The waiting-maid was just gone out on an er- 
rand with which I had commissioned her. My 
sister took a light to fetch her clothes from a 
wardrobe in the upper story. She remained much 
longer absent than was requisite. At length she 
returned without a light : — I screamed with fright. 
My father asked her in an agitated manner, what 
had happened to her. In fact, she had scarcely 
been absent a quarter of an hour, and yet during 
that time her face had undergone a complete al- 
teration ; her habitual paleness had given place to 
a death-like hue ; her ruby lips were turned blue. 

" My arms involuntarily opened to embrace this 
sister whom I adored. I almost doubted my sight, 



THE FATED HOUR. 77 

for I could get no answer from her ; but for a long 
while she leaned against my bosom, mute and in- 
animate. The look, replete with infinite softness, 
which she gave my father and me, alone informed 
us, that during her continuance in this incompre- 
hensible trance, she still belonged to the material 
world. 

" ' I was seized with a sudden indisposition,' she 
at length said in a low voice; ' but I now find my- 
self better.' 

" She asked my father whether he still wished 
her to go into society. He thought, that after an 
occurrence of this nature her going out might be 
dangerous: but he would not dispense with my 
making the visit, although I endeavoured to per- 
suade him that my attention might be needful to 
Seraphina. I left her with an aching heart. 

" I had ordered the carriage to be sent for me 
at a very early hour : but the extreme anxiety I 
felt would not allow me to wait its arrival, and I 
returned home on foot. The servant could scarcely 
keep pace with me, such was my haste to return to 
Seraphina. 

" On my arrival in her room, my impatience 
was far from being relieved. 

" ' Where is she ?' I quickly asked. 

" l Who mademoiselle V 

" ' Why, Seraphina.' 



78 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" ' Mademoiselle, Seraphina is in your father's 
closet/ 

"< Alone V 

" ' No with his excellency.' 

" I ran\ to the boudoir: the door, which was pre- 
viously shut, at that instant opened, and my father 
with Seraphina came out : the latter was in tears. 
I remarked that my father had an air of chagrin 
and doubt which not even the storms of public 
life had ever produced in his countenance. 

" He made us a sign full of gentleness, and Se- 
raphina followed me into another room : but she 
first assured my father she would remember the 
promise he had exacted, and of which I was still 
ignorant. 

" Seraphina appeared to me so tormented by 
the internal conflicts she endured, that I several 
times endeavoured, but in vain, to draw from her 
the mysterious event which had so recently thrown 
her into so alarming a situation. At last I over- 
came her scruples, and she answered me as follows: 

" ' Your curiosity shall be satisfied, in part. I 
will develop some of the mystery to you ; but 
only on one irrevocable condition/ 

" I entreated her instantly to name the condi- 
tion : and she thus continued : — 

" ' Swear to me, that you will rest satisfied with 
what I shall disclose to you, and that you will 



THE FATED HOUR. 79 

never urge nor use that power which you possess 
over my heart, to obtain a knowledge of what I 
am obliged to conceal from you/ 

" I swore it to her. 

" l Now, my dear Florentina, forgive me, if, for 
the first time in my life, I have a secret from you; 
and also for not being satisfied with your mere word 
for the promise I have exacted from you. My fa- 
ther, to whom I have confided every thing, has im- 
posed these two obligations on me, and his last 
words were to that effect/ 

" I begged her to come to the point. 

" * Words are inadequate to describe/ said she, 
' the weight I felt my soul oppressed with when 
I went to get my clothes. I had no sooner closed 
the door of the room in which you and my father 
were, than I fancied I was about to be separated 
from life and all that constituted my happiness; 
and that I had many dreadful nights to linger 
through, ere I could arrive at a better and more 
peaceful abode. The air which I breathed on the 
staircase was not such as usually circulates around 
us ; it oppressed my breathing, and caused large 
drops of icy perspiration to fall from my forehead. 
Certain it is, I was not alone on the staircase; but 
for a long while I dared not look around me. 

" ' You know, my dear Florentina, with what 
earnestness I wished and prayed, but in vain, that 



80 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

my mother would appear to me after her death, if 
only for once. I fancied that on the stairs I heard 
my mother's spirit behind me. I was apprehen- 
sive it was come to punish me for the vows I had 
already made.' 

" ' A strange thought, certainly !' 

" ' But how could I imagine that a mother, who 
was goodness itself, could be offended by the na- 
tural wishes of a tenderly beloved child, or have 
imputed them to indiscreet curiosity ? It was no 
less foolish to think that she, who had been so long 
since enclosed in the tomb, should occupy herself 
in inflicting chastisement on me, for faults which 
were nearly obliterated from my recollection. I 
was so immediately convinced of the weakness of 
giving way to such ideas, that I summoned courage 
and turned my head. 

" ' Although my affrighted survey could discover 
nothing, I again heard the footsteps following me, 
but more distinctly than before. At the door of 
the room I was about to enter, I felt my gown 
held. Overpowered by terror, I was unable to 
proceed, and fell on the threshold of the door. 

" ' I lost no time, however, in reproaching my- 
self for suffering terror so to overcome me ; and 
recollected that there was nothing supernatural in 
this accident, for my gown had caught on the 
handle of an old piece of furniture which had been 



THE FATED HOUR. 81 

placed in the passage, to be taken out of the house 
the following day. 

" * This discovery inspired me with fresh courage. 
I approached the wardrobe : but judge my conster- 
nation, when, preparing to open it, the two doors 
unclosed of themselves, without making the slightest 
noise ; the lamp which I held in my hand was ex- 
tinguished, and — as if I was standing before a look- 
ing-glass, — my exact image came out of the ward- 
robe: the light which it spread, illumined great 
part of the room. 

" ' I then heard these words : — Why trem- 
ble you at the sight of your own spirit, which 
appears to give you warning of your approaching 
dissolution, and to reveal to you the fate of your 
house ?' 

" ' The phantom then informed me of several fu- 
ture events. But when, after having deeply medi- 
tated on its prophetic words, I asked a question re- 
lative to you, the room became as dark as before, 
and the spirit had vanished. This, my dear, is all 
I am permitted to reveal/ 

" i Your approaching death !' cried I : — That 
thought had in an instant effaced all other. 

" Smiling, she made me a sign in the affirma- 
tive; and gave me to understand, at the same time, 
that I ought to press her no further on this subject. 
' My father/ added she, ' has promised to make you 

G 



82 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

acquainted, in proper time, with all it concerns you 
to know/ 

" ' At a proper time !' repeated I, in a plaintive 
voice; for it appeared to me, that since I had 
learned so much, it was high time that I should 
be made acquainted with the whole. 

" The same evening I mentioned my wishes to 
my father : but he was inexorable. He fancied that 
possibly what had happened to Seraphina might 
have arisen from her disordered and overheated 
imagination. However, three days afterwards, my 
sister finding herself so ill as to be obliged to keep 
her bed, my father's doubts began to be shaken; and 
although the precise day of Seraphina's death had 
not been named to me, I could not avoid observing 
by her paleness, and the more than usually affection- 
ate manner of embracing my father and me, that the 
time of our eternal separation was not far off. 

" 6 Will the clock soon strike nine ?' asked Sera- 
phina, while we w r ere sitting near her bed in the 
evening. 

u l Yes, soon/ replied my father. 

" l Well then ! think of me, dear objects of my 
affection: — we shall meet again/ She pressed our 
hands ; and the clock no sooner struck, than she 
fell back in her bed, never to rise more. 

" My father has since related to me every parti- 
cular as it happened ; for at that time I was so 



THE FATED HOUR. 83 

much overcome that my senses had forsaken 
me. 

U Seraphina's eyes were scarcely closed, when I 
returned to a life which then appeared to me in- 
supportable. I was apprehensive that the state of 
stupefaction into which I was thrown by the dread 
of the loss that threatened me, had appeared to 
my sister a want of attachment. And from that 
time I have never thought of the melancholy 
scene without experiencing a violent shuddering. 

" ' You must be aware/ said my father to me (it 
was at the precise hour, and before the same 
chimney we are at this moment placed) — you must 
be aware, that the pretended vision should still be 
kept quite secret.' I was of his opinion ; but could 
not help adding, ' What ! still, my father, though 
one part of the prediction has in so afflicting a 
manner been verified, you continue to call it a pre- 
tended vision Y 

" ' Yes, my child ; you know not what a danger- 
ous enemy to man is his own imagination. Sera- 
phina will not be the last of its victims/ 

a We were seated, as I before said, just as we 
now are ; and I was about to name a motive which 
I had before omitted, when I perceived that his 
eyes were fixed in a disturbed manner on the 
door. I was ignorant of the cause, and could dis- 
cover nothing extraordinary there : notwithstand- 

Q 2 



S4 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ing, however, an instant afterwards it opened of its 
own accord." 

Here Florentina stopped, as if overcome anew 
by the remembrance of her terror. At the same 
moment Amelia rose from her seat uttering a loud 
scream. 

Her sister and her friend inquired what ailed 
her. For a long while she made them no reply, 
and would not resume her seat on the chair, the 
back of which was towards the door. At length, 
however, she confessed (casting an inquiring and 
anxious look around her) that a hand, cold as ice, 
had touched her neck. 

" This is truly the effect of imagination," said 
Maria, reseating herself. " It was my hand : for 
some time my arm has been resting on your chair ; 
and when mention was made of the door opening 
of its own accord, I felt a wish to rest on some 
living object—" 

" But a-propos, — And the door ?" 

" Strange incident ! I trembled with fear ; and 
clinging to my father, asked him if he did not see 
a sort of splendid light, a something brilliant, pe- 
netrate the apartment. 

" ' 'Tis well !' answered he, in a low and tremu- 
lous voice, ' we have lost a being whom we che- 
rished; and consequently, in some degree, our 
minds are disposed to exalted ideas, and our ima-* 



THE FATED HOUR. 85 

ginations may very easily be duped by the same 
illusions : besides, there is nothing very unnatural 
in a door opening of its own accord.' 

" ' It ought to be closely shut now,' replied I ; 
without having the courage to do it. 

ff ' 'Tis very easy to shut it,' said my father. 
But he rose in visible apprehension, walked a 
few paces, and then returned, adding, i The door 
may remain open ; for the room is too warm.' 

" It is impossible for me to describe, even by 
comparison, the singular light I had perceived : 
and I do assure you, that if, instead of the light, I 
had seen my sister's spirit enter, I should have 
opened my arms to receive it ; for it was only the 
mysterious and vague appearance of this strange 
vision which caused me so much fear. 

" The servants coming in at this instant with 
supper, put an end to the conversation. 

"Time could not efface the remembrance of 
Seraphina ; but it wore off all recollection of the 
last apparition. My daily intercourse with you, 
my friends, since the loss of Seraphina, has been 
for me a fortunate circumstance, and has insensi- 
bly become an indispensable habit. I no longer 
thought deeply of the prediction relative to our 
house, uttered by the phantom to my sister ; and 
in the arms of friendship gave myself up entirely to 



86 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

the innocent gaiety which youth inspires. The 
beauties of spring contributed to the restoration of 
my peace of mind. One evening, just as you had 
left me, I continued walking in the garden, as if 
intoxicated with the delicious vapours emitted from 
the flowers, and the magnificent spectacle which 
the serenity of the sky presented to my view. 

" Absorbed entirely by the enjoyment of my 
existence, I did not notice that it was later than 
my usual hour for returning. And I know not 
why, but that evening no one appeared to think of 
me ; for my father, whose solicitude for every thing 
concerning me was redoubled since my sister's 
death, and who knew I was in the garden, had not, 
as was his usual custom, sent me any garment to 
protect me from the chilling night air. 

" While thus reflecting, I was seized with a vio- 
lent feverish shivering, which I could by no means 
attribute to the night air. My eyes accidentally 
fixed on the flowering shrubs ; and the same bril- 
liant light which I had seen at the door of the 
room on the day of Seraphina's burial, appeared to 
me to rest on these shrubs, and dart its rays towards 
me. The avenue in which I was happened to 
have been Seraphina's favourite walk. 

" The recollection of this inspired me with 
courage, and I approached the shrubs in the hope 



THE FATED HOUR. 87 

of meeting my sister's shade beneath the trees. But 
my hopes being frustrated, I returned to the house 
with trembling steps. 

" I there found many extraordinary circum- 
stances : nobody had thought of supper, which I 
imagined would have been half over. All the ser- 
vants were running about in confusion, and were 
hastening to pack up the clothes and furniture. 

" ' Who is going away ?' I demanded. 

" ' Why surely, mademoiselle !' exclaimed the 
steward, ' are you not acquainted with his excel- 
lency's wish to have us all ?' 

" < Wherefore then V 

u This very night we are to set out for his ex- 
cellency's estate." 

" < Why so V 

" They shrugged their shoulders. I ran into my 
father's cabinet, and there found him with his eyes 
fixed on the ground. 

" ? Seraphina's second prophecy is also accom- 
plished,' said he to me, l though precisely the 
least likely thing possible. — I am in disgrace.' 

" ' What ! did she predict this ?' 

" ' Yes, my child ; but I concealed it from you. 
I resign myself to my fate, and leave others better 
to fill this perilous post. I am about to retire to 
my own estates, there to live for you, and to con- 
stitute the happiness of my vassals/ 



88 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" In spite of the violent emotions which were 
created by my father's misfortune, and the idea of 
separating from all the friends I loved, his appa- 
rent tranquillity produced a salutary effect on my 
mind. At midnight we set off. My father was 
so much master of himself under his change of 
condition, that by the time he arrived at his estate 
he was calm and serene. 

"He found many things to arrange and im- 
prove ; and his active turn of mind soon led him to 
find a train of pleasing occupations. 

" In a short time, however, he was withdrawn 
from them, by an illness which the physicians re- 
garded as very serious. My father conformed to 
all they prescribed : he abstained from all occupa- 
tion, though he entertained very little hope of any 
good resulting from it. ' Seraphina/ he said to me 
(entirely changing his former opinion), * Seraphina 
has twice predicted true ; and will a third time/ 

" This conversation made me very miserable ; 
for I understood from it that my father believed 
he should shortly die. 

" In fact, he visibly declined, and was at 
length forced to keep his bed. He one evening 
sent for me ; and after having dismissed his at- 
tendants, he, in a feeble voice, and with frequent 
interruptions, thus addressed me : — 

" ' Experience has cured me of incredulity ; When 



THE FATED HOUR. 89 

the clock strikes nine according to Seraphina's 
prediction) I shall be no more. For this reason, 
my dear child, I am anxious to address a few 
words of advice to you. If possible, remain in 
your present state ; never marry. Destiny ap- 
pears to have conspired against our race. 

But no more of this. — To proceed : if ever you 
seriously think of marrying, do not, I beseech you, 
neglect to read this paper ; but my express desire 
is, that you do not open it beforehand, as in that 
case its contents would cause you unnecessary 
misery.' 

" Saying these words, which with sobbing I 
listened to, he drew from under his pillow a sealed 
paper, which he gave me. The moment was not 
favourable for reflecting on the importance of the 
condition which he imposed on me. The clock, 
which announced the fated hour, at which my fa- 
ther, resting on my shoulder, drew his last gasp, 
deprived me of my senses. 

" The day of his interment was also marked by 
the brilliant and extraordinary light of which I 
have before made mention. 

" You know, that shortly after this melancholy 
loss I returned to the capital, in hopes of finding 
consolation in your beloved society. You also know, 
that youth seconded your efforts to render existence 
desirable, and that by degrees I felt a relish for 



90 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

life. Neither are you ignorant that the result 
of this intercourse was an attachment between the 
count Ernest and me, which rendered my father's 
exhortations abortive. The count loved me, and 
I returned his affection, and nothing more was 
wanting to make me think that I ought not to lead 
a life of celibacy: besides, my father had only 
made this request conditionally. 

" My marriage appeared certain ; and I did not 
hesitate to open the mysterious paper. There it is, 
I will read it to you : — 

" l Seraphina has undoubtedly already told you, 
that when she endeavoured to question the phan- 
tom concerning your destiny, it suddenly disap- 
peared. The incomprehensible being seen by your 
sister had made mention of you, and its afflicting 
decree was, that three days before that fixed on for 
your marriage, you would die at the same ninth 
hour which has been so fatal to us. Your sister re- 
covering a little from her first alarm, asked it, if 
you could not escape this dreadful mandate by re- 
maining single. 

" ' Unhappily, Seraphina did not receive any an- 
swer: but I feel assured, that by marrying you 
will die. For this reason I entreat you to remain 
single : I add, however — if it accords with your in- 
clinations ; as I do not feel confident that even this 
will ensure you from the effect of the prediction. 



THE FATED HOUR. Ql 

" ' In order, my dear child, to save you from all 
premature uneasiness, I have avoided this commu- 
nication till the hour of danger : reflect, therefore, 
seriously on what you ought to do. 

il * My spirit, when you read these lines, shall 
hover over and bless you, whatever way you de- 
cide/" 

Florentina folded up the paper again in si- 
lence; and, after a pause which her two friends 
sensibly felt, added : — 

" Possibly, my dear friends, this has caused the 
change in me which you have sometimes con- 
demned. But tell me whether, situated as I am, 
you would not become troubled, and almost anni- 
hilated, by the prediction which announced your 
death on the very eve of your happiness ? 

" Here my recital ends. To-morrow the count 
returns from his travels. The ardour of his affec- 
tion has induced him to fix on the third day after 
his arrival for the celebration of our marriage." 

" Then 'tis this very day !" exclaimed Ame- 
lia and Maria at the same moment; paleness and 
inquietude depicted on every feature, when their 
eyes glanced to a clock on the point of striking 
nine. 

" Yes, this is indeed the decisive day," replied 
Florentina, with a grave yet serene air. " The 



92 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

morning has been to me a frightful one ; but at 
this moment I find myself composed, my health is 
excellent, and gives me a confidence that death 
would with difficulty overcome me to-day. Be- 
sides, a secret but lively presentiment tells me that 
this very evening the wish I have so long formed 
will be accomplished. My beloved sister will ap- 
pear to me, and will defeat the prediction con- 
cerning me. 

" Dear Seraphina ! you were so suddenly, so 
cruelly snatched from me ! Where are you, that I 
may return, with tenfold interest, the love that I 
have not the power of proving towards you ?' ? 

The two sisters, transfixed with horror, had their 
eyes riveted on the clock, which struck the fated 
hour. 

"You are welcome!" cried Florentina, seeing 
the fire in the chimney, to which they had paid no 
attention, suddenly extinguished. She then rose 
from her chair ; and with open arms walked to- 
wards the door which Maria and Amelia anxiously 
regarded, whilst sighs escaped them both ; and at 
which entered the figure of Seraphina, illumined 
by the moon's rays. Florentina folded her sister 
in her arms. — " I am thine for ever !" 

These words, pronounced in a soft and melan- 
choly tone of voice, struck Amelia and Maria's 



THE FATED HOUR. Q3 

ears; but they knew not whether they were uttered 
by Florentina or the phantom, or whether by both 
the sisters together. 

Almost at the same moment the servants came 
in, alarmed, to learn what had happened. They 
had heard a noise as if all the glasses and porcelain 
in the house were breaking. They found their 
mistress extended at the door, but not the slightest 
trace of the apparition remained. 

Every means of restoring Florentina to life were 
used, but in vain. The physicians attributed her 
death to a ruptured blood-vessel. Maria and 
Amelia will carry the remembrance of this heart- 
rending scene to their graves. 



III. 

THE DEATH'S HEAD. 



What guilt 



Can equal violations of the dead? 

The dead how sacred !" — • < 

Young's Night Thoughts. 

1 h e beauty of the evening which succeeded to a 
very sultry day tempted colonel Kielholm to sit, 
surrounded by his little family, on the stone bench 
placed before the door of the noble mansion he had 
recently purchased. In order to become acquainted 
by degrees with his new tenants, he took pleasure 
in questioning on their occupations and conditions 
the greater part of those who passed by ; he allevi- 
ated their little sufferings by his advice as well as 
by his bounty. His family enjoyed particular plea- 
sure in seeing the little inn situated in front of the 
chateau, which, instead of presenting a disgusting 
object, as when the late owner lived there, became 
each succeeding day better and more orderly. 
Their pleasure was heightened from the circum- 
stance that the new landlord, who had been many 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 95 

years a servant in the family, was loud in praises of 
its amended condition, and delighted himself in his 
new calling, with the idea of the happy prospects it 
held forth to himself, his wife, and children. 

Formerly, though the road was greatly fre- 
quented, nobody ventured to pass a night at this 
inn ; but now each day there was a succession of 
travellers ; carriages were constantly seen at the 
door or in the court-yard ; and the air of general 
satisfaction of each party as they proceeded on 
their route, incontestably proved to the landlord, 
(who always, hat in hand, was at the door of their 
carriages as they drove off,) that his efforts to give 
the various travellers satisfaction were completely 
successful. 

A moving scene of this nature had just disap- 
peared, which furnished conversation for the 
moment, when a whimsical equipage, which ar- 
rived from another quarter, attracted the attention 
of the colonel and his family. A long carriage, 
loaded with trunks and all sorts of luggage, and 
drawn by two horses, whose form and colour 
presented the most grotesque contrast imaginable, 
but which in point of meagreness were an excellent 
match, was succeeded by a second long and large 
vehicle, which they had, most probably at the ex- 
pense of the adjacent forest, converted into a tra- 
velling thicket. The four steeds which drew it, did 



96 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

not in any respect make a better appearance than 
the two preceding. But the colonel and his fa- 
mily were still more struck by the individuals who 
filled this second carriage : it was a strange med- 
ley of children and grown persons, closely wedged 
together ; but not one of their countenances bore 
the slightest mark of similarity of ideas. Discon- 
tent, aversion, and hatred, were legible in the face 
of each of these sun-burnt strangers. It was not a 
family, but a collection of individuals which fear 
or necessity kept together without uniting. 

The colonel's penetrating eye led him to disco- 
ver thus much, though the distance was consider- 
able. He at length saw descend from the back part 
of the carriage a man of better appearance than the 
others. At something which he said, the whole 
troop turned their eyes towards the inn ; they as- 
sumed an air of greater content, and appeared a 
little better satisfied. 

The first carriage had already stopped at the 
door of the inn, while the second was passing the 
chateau ; and the extremely humble salutations 
from the passengers in the latter, seemed to claim 
the good-will of the colonel and his family. 

The second carriage had scarcely stopped, ere 
the troop were out of it, each appearing anxious to 
quit those next to whom they had been sitting with 
all possible speed. The spruce and agile manner 






the death's head. 97 

in which they leapt out of the vehicle, left no doubt 
on the mind what their profession was, — they could 
be none other than rope-dancers. 

The colonel remarked, that "notwithstanding the 
humble salutations they had made, he did not think 
they would exhibit in these parts; but according to 
appearances they would proceed to the capital 
with all possible dispatch ; as it was hardly to be 
expected that they would be delayed a single day, 
by the very trivial profit to be expected from ex- 
hibiting in a mere country village." 

" We have," said he, " seen the worst side of 
these gentry, without the probability of ascertain- 
ing whether they have any thing to recommend 
them to our notice." 

His wife was on the point of expressing her dis« 
like to all those tricks which endanger the neck> 
when the person whom they had observed as be- 
ing superior to the rest, advanced towards them^ 
and after making a low bow, asked permission to 
remain there a few days. The colonel was unable 
to refuse this request, as he shewed him a passport 
properly signed. 

" I beg you," replied the colonel, " to declare 
most positively to your company, that every equi- 
vocal action is punished in my villages ; as I am 
anxious to avoid all possibility of quarrels." 

" Do not in the least alarm yourself, Monsieur; 

H 



98 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

an extremely severe discipline is kept up in my 
troop, which has in some respects the effect of a 
secret police among ourselves : all can answer for 
one, and one can answer for all. Each is bound 
to communicate any misconduct on the part of 
another to me, and is always rewarded for such 
communication ; but, on the contrary, if he omits, 
so to do, he is severely punished." 

The colonel's lady could not conceal her aver- 
sion to such a barbarous regulation ; which the 
stranger perceiving, shrugged his shoulders. 

" We must all accommodate our ideas to our 
condition. I have found, that if persons of this 
stamp are not so treated, there is no possibility of 
governing them. And you may the more confi- 
dently rely on my vigilance, as I had the happiness 
of being born in this place, and in consequence 
feel a double obligation : first, to the place of my 
birth ; secondly, to his worship." 

" Were you born here ?" demanded the co]<> 
nePs wife with surprise. 

" Yes, my lady ; my father was Schurster the 
schoolmaster, who died lately. But I call myself 
Calzolaro, finding that my profession succeeds bet- 
ter under an Italian than a German name." 

This explanation redoubled the interest the colo- 
nel and his lady already felt for this man, who ap- 
peared to -have received a tolerable education. 



the death's head. 99 

They knew that the schoolmaster, whose profession 
had been pretty lucrative, owing to the nume- 
rous population of the village, had died worth some 
considerable property ; but that he had named a 
distant female relation as his sole heiress, leaving 
his only son an extremely scanty pittance. 

" My father," continued Calzolaro, " did not 
behave to me as he ought : and I cannot but think 
I should be justified in availing myself of some im 
portant informalities in his will, and endeavouring 
to set it aside, which is my present intention. But 
excuse, I pray you, my having tired your patience 
with relations to which the conversation has invo- 
luntarily given rise. I have still one more request 
to make : Permit me to return you my best thanks 
for your gracious condescension, and to shew you 
some of the exercises for which my troop is famous/' 
The colonel acceded to Calzolaro's request, and 
a day was fixed for the performance. 

Calzolaro went that very evening to the village 
pastor, and communicated to him his intentions 
relative to his father's will. The worthy minister 
condemned such procedure, and endeavoured to 
convince Calzolaro that his father's anger was just. 
" Picture to yourself, young man," said he, " a fa- 
ther who has grown old in an honest profession, and 
who rejoices in having a son to whom he can leave it : 
added to which, this son has great talents, a good 

y 2 



100 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

understanding, and is well-disposed. It was natural 
that the father should use every possible exertion to 
obtain for this son his own situation at his death. 
The son is in truth nominated to succeed him. The 
father, thinking himself secure from misfortune, 
feels quite happy. It was at this period that the 
son, enticed by hair-brained companions, gave up 
a certain and respectable, though not very brilliant 
provision. My dear Schurster, if, when shaking off 
the salutary yoke, and quitting your venerable fa- 
ther, to ramble over the world, you could lightly 
forget the misery it would occasion him, you ought 
at least in the present instance to behave differ- 
ently ; or, in plain terms, I shall say you are a 
good-for-nothing fellow. Did not your father, 
even after this, do all he could to reclaim you ? but 
you were deaf to his remonstrances." 

" Because the connexion which I had formed 
imposed obligations on me, from which I could 
not free myself, as from a garment of which one is 
tired. For had I then been my own master, as I 
now am " 

" Here let us stop, if you please : I have only 
one request to make of you. You ought, from re- 
spect to your father's memory, not to dispute his 
will." 

This conversation and the venerable air of the 
pastor had a little shaken Calzolaro's resolutions : 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 101 

but the next day they returned with double force ; 
for lie heard several persons say, that shortly be- 
fore his death, his father was heard to speak of him 
with great bitterness. 

This discourse rendered him so indignant, that 
he would not even accede to a proposal of accom- 
modation with the heiress, made to him by the 
pastor. 

The colonel tried equally, but without success, 
to become a mediator, and at length determined to 
let the matter take its course. 

He however assisted at the rehearsals made by 
the troop ; and took so much pleasure in the per- 
formances prepared for the amusement of him and 
his family by Calzolaro, that he engaged him to 
act again, and invited several of his neighbours to 
witness them. 

Calzolaro said to him on this occasion : " You 
have as yet seen very trifling proofs of our abilities. 
But do not fancy that I am an idle spectator, and 
merely stand by to criticize : — I, as well as each in- 
dividual of my troop, have a sphere of action ; and 
I reserve myself to give you, before we take our 
leave, some entertaining experiments in electricity 
and magnetism." 

The colonel then told him, that he had recently 
seen in the capital a man who exhibited experi- 
ments of that sort, which had greatly delighted him ; 



102 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

and above all, he had been singularly astonished 
by his powers of ventriloquism. 

" It is precisely in that particular point," replied 
Calzolaro, that I think myself equal to any one, 
be* they whom they may." 

" I am very glad of it," answered the colonel. 
" But what would produce the most astonishing 
effect on those who have never heard a ventrilo- 
quist, would be a dialogue between the actor and 
a death's head : — the man of whom I made mention 
gave us one." 

" If you command it, I can undertake it." 
" Delightful !" exclaimed the colonel. And 
Calzolaro having given some unequivocal proofs 
of his powers as a ventriloquist, the colonel add- 
ed : " The horror of the scene must be augmented 
by every possible means : for instance, we must 
hang the room with black ; the lights must be ex- 
tinguished ; we must fix on midnight. It will be 
a species of phantasmagoria dessert after supper ; 
an unexpected spectacle. We must contrive to 
throw the audience into a cold perspiration, in or- 
der that when the explanation takes place they 
may have ample reason to laugh at their fears. 
For if all succeeds, no one will be exempt from a 
certain degree of terror." 

Calzolaro entered into the project, and pro- 
mised that nothing should be neglected to make it 



THE DEATHS HEAD. 103 

successful They unfurnished a closet, and hung it 

with black. 

The colonel's wife was the only one admitted to 
their confidence, as they could rely on her discre- 
tion. Her husband had even a little altercation 
on the subject with her. She wished, that for the 
ventriloquist scene they should use the model of a 
head in plaister, which her son used to draw from ; 
whereas the colonel maintained that they must have 
a real skull : " Otherwise," said he, " the specta- 
tors' illusion will speedily be at an end ; but after 
they have heard the death's head speak, we will 
cause it to be handed round, in order to convince 
them that it is in truth but a skull/' 

" And where can we procure this skull ?" asked 
the colonel's wife. 

" The sexton will undertake to provide us with 
it." 

" And whose corpse will you thus disturb, for a 
frivolous amusement ?" 

" How sentimental you are !" replied Kielholm, 
who did not consider the subject in so serious a 
light: " We may easily see you are not accustomed 
to the field of battle, where no further respect is 
paid to the repose of the dead, than suits the con- 
venience of the labourer in the fields where they are 
buried." 

" God preserve me from such a spectacle !" ex- 



104 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

claimed the colonel's lady in quitting them, when 
she perceived her husband was insensible to her re- 
presentations. 

According to the orders which he received, the 
sexton one night brought a skull in good preserva- 
tion. 

The morning of the day destined for the repre- 
sentation, Calzolaro went into the adjacent forest 
to rehearse the dialogue which he was to have with 
the death's head. He considered in what way to 
place the head, so as to avoid all suspicion of the 
answers given by it being uttered by a person con^ 
cealed. In the mean while the pastor arrived at 
the spot from a neighbouring hamlet, where he 
had been called to attend a dying person : and be- 
lieving that the interposition of Providence was vh 
sible in this accidental meeting, the good man 
stopped, in order once again to exhort Calzolaro 
to agree to an accommodation with the heiress. 

" I yesterday," said he, " received a letter from 
her, in which she declares that, rather than any dis- 
respect should be paid to your father's last will and 
testament, she will give up to you half the inherit- 
ance to which she is thereby entitled. Ought you 
not to prefer this to a process at law, the issue of 
which is doubtful, and which at all events will ne- 
ver do you credit ?" 

Jpaljzolaro persisted in declaring that the law 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 105 

should decide between him and the testator. — The 
poor young man was not in a state to see in a pro- 
per point of view his father's conduct towards 
him. — The pastor, finding all his representations 
and entreaties fruitless, left him. Calzolaro pro- 
ceeded slowly to the inn, to assign to each of his 
band their particular part. He told them that he 
should not be with them ; but notwithstanding he 
should have an eye over their conduct. He was 
not willing to appear as the manager of these 
mountebanks, to the party assembled at the colo- 
nel's, thinking that if he appeared for the first time 
in the midnight scene, as an entire stranger, it 
would add still more to the marvellous. 

The tumblers' tricks and rope-dancing were per- 
formed to admiration. And those of the specta- 
tors whose constant residence in the country pre- 
vented their having witnessed similar feats, were 
the most inclined to admire and praise the agility 
of the troop. The little children in particular were 
applauded. The compassion excited by their un- 
happy destiny, mingled with the approbation be- 
stowed on them ; and the ladies were subjects of 
envy, in giving birth to the satisfaction depicted in 
the countenances of these little wretches by their 
liberal donations. 

The agility of the troop formed the subject of 
general conversation the whole afternoon. They 



106 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

were even speaking in their praise after supper, — 
when the master of the house said to the company 
assembled : 

" I am rejoiced, my dear friends, to see the 
pleasure you have received from the little spectacle 
that I have been enabled to give you. My joy is 
so much the greater, since I find you doubting the 
possibility of things which are very natural ; for I 
have it in my power to submit for your examina- 
tion something of a very incomprehensible nature. 
At this very moment I have in my house a person 
who entertains a most singular intercourse with the 
world of spirits, and who can compel the dead to 
answer his questions." 

" O !" exclaimed a lady smiling, " don't terrify 
us." 

" You jest now" replied the colonel ; " but I 
venture t6 affirm your mirth will be a little 
changed when the scene takes place." 

" I accept the challenge," answered the incre- 
dulous fair one. All the party was of her opinion, 
and declared themselves so openly and so loudly 
against the truth of these terrific scenes, that the 
colonel began to be really apprehensive for the 
effects likely to be produced by those he had pre- 
pared. He would have even relinquished his pro- 
ject, if his guests, one and all, had not intreated him 
to the contrary. They even went further : they be- 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 107 

sought him not long to delay the wonderful things 
he promised. But the colonel, keeping his own 
counsel, feigned ignorance that they were laughing 
at him ; and with a grave air declared that the ex- 
periment could not take place till midnight. 

The clock at length struck twelve. The colo- 
nel gave his servants orders to place chairs facing 
the door of a closet which had been hitherto kept 
shut: he invited the company to sit down, and 
gave orders for all the lights to be put out. While 
these preparations were making, he thus addressed 
the company : 

" I entreat you, my friends, to abstain from all 
idle curiosity." The grave and solemn tone in 
which he uttered these words made a deep im- 
pression on the party, whose incredulity was not a 
little lessened by the striking of the clock, and the 
putting out the lights one after the other. Pre- 
sently they heard from the closet facing them the 
hoarse and singular sounds by which it is pre- 
tended spirits are conjured up ; and which were 
interrupted at intervals by loud strokes of a ham- 
mer. All on a sudden the door of the closet 
opened : and as by slow degrees the cloud of in- 
cense which filled it evaporated, they gradually dis- 
covered the black trappings with which it was 
hung, and an altar in the middle also hung with 
black drapery. On this altar was placed a skull, 



108 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

which cast its terrifying regards on all the com- 
pany present. 

Meanwhile the spectators' breathing became 
more audible and difficult, and their embarrass- 
ment increased in proportion as the vapour gave 
place to a brilliant light issuing from an alabaster 
lamp suspended from the cieling. Many of them 
indeed turned their heads away in alarm on hearing 
a noise behind them ; which, however, they disco- 
vered simply proceeded from some of the servants, 
whom the colonel had given permission to be pre- 
sent during the exhibition , at a respectful distance. 

After a moment of profound silence, Calzolaro 
entered. A long beard had so effectually altered 
his youthful appearance, that though several of the 
spectators had previously seen him, they could not 
possibly recognize him under this disguise. And his 
Oriental costume added so much to the deceit, 
that his entrance had an excellent effect. 

In order that his art should impose the more, 
the colonel recommended to him a degree of 
haughtiness in addressing the company; and that 
he should not salute them according to any pre- 
scribed forms of politeness, but to announce him- 
self in terms foreign from all ordinary modes of 
conversation. They both agreed that a mysterU 
ous jargon would best answer their purpose. 

In consequence of such determination, Calzo-* 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 10<j 

kro, assuming a deep sepulchral tone, thus began : 
— " After our present state of existence, we are 
swallowed up in the obscure abyss which we call 
death, in order that we may become incorporated 
in an entirely new and peaceful state. It is in or- 
der to emancipate the soul from this state, that the 
sublime arts are exercised ; and to create among 
fools and weak persons the idea of its being im- 
possible ! The wise and learned pity them for their 
ignorance, in not knowing what is possible and 
impossible, true or false, light or dark ; because 
they do not know and cannot comprehend the ex- 
alted spirits, who, from the silence of the vault 
and the grave, from the mouldering bones of the 
dead, speak to the living in a voice no less for- 
midable than true. As to you, who are now here 
assembled, listen to a word of advice: Avoid pro- 
voking by any indiscreet question the vengeance of 
the spirit, who at my command will be invisibly 
stationed beneath this human skull. Endeavour to 
moderate your fear: listen to every thing with 
calmness and submission ; for I take under my 
especial care all those who are obedient, and only 
leave the guilty as a prey to the destruction they 
merit." 

The colonel remarked with secret satisfaction 
the impression produced on the company, hitherto 
so incredulous, by this pompous harangue. 



110 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" Every thing succeeds better than I could have 
hoped," said he, in an under tone to his wife, who 
was not at all amused by the performance, and 
who was only present to please her husband. 

Meanwhile Calzolaro continued: " Look on 
this pitiful and neglected head : my magic art has 
removed the bolts of the tomb to which it was 
consigned, and in which reposes a long line of 
princes. The owner of it is now actually there, 
rendering up to the spirits an exact account of the 
life he had led. Don't be alarmed, even though 
it should burst forth in terrible menaces against 
you : and against me his impotency will be manifest, 
as, spite of his former grandeur, he cannot resist the 
power I have over him, provided no culpable pre- 
cipitation on your part interrupt the solemnity of 
my questions." 

He then opened a door of the closet hitherto 
concealed from the company, brought a chafing, 
dish filled with red-hot coals, threw thereon some 
incense, and walked three times round the altar, 
pronouncing at each circle a spell. He then drew 
from its scabbard a sword which hung in his girdle, 
plunged it in the smoke issuing from the incense, 
and making frightful contortions of his face and 
limbs, pretended to endeavour to cleave the head, 
which, however, he did not touch. At last he took 
the head up on the point of his sword, held it up 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. Ill 

in th e air before him, and advanced towards the 
spectators a little moved. 

" Who art thou, miserable dust, that I hold at 
the point of my sword .?" demanded Calzolaro with 
a confident air and a firm voice.— But scarcely had 
he uttered this question, when he turned pale ; his 
arm trembled ; his knees shook ; his haggard eyes, 
which were fixed on the head, were horror-struck : 
he had hardly strength sufficient to place the head 
and the sword on the altar, ere he suddenly fell 
on the floor with every symptom of extreme terror. 

The spectators, frightened out of their wits, 
looked at the master of the house, who in his turn 
looked at them. No one seemed to know whether 
this was to be considered part of the scene, nor 
whether it was possible to explain it. The curio- 
sity of the audience was raised to its utmost pitch: 
they waited still a considerable time, but no expla- 
nation took place. At length Calzolaro, half-raising 
himself, asked if his father's shadow had disap- 
peared. 

Stupefaction succeeded astonishment. The co- 
lonel was anxious to know whether he was still 
attempting to impose on the company by a pre- 
tended dialogue with the death's head ? 

Calzolaro answered that he would do any 
thing, and that he would willingly submit to any 
punishment they chose to inflict on him for his 



112 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

frightful crime: but he entreated they would in- 
stantly carry back the head to its place of repose. 

His countenance had undergone a complete 
change, and only resumed its wonted appearance 
on the colonel's wife acquiescing in his wish : she 
ordered the head to be instantly conveyed to the 
church-yard, and to be replaced in the grave. 

During this unexpected denouement, every eye 
was turned on Calzolaro ; he, who not long ago 
was talking with so much emphasis and in such a 
lofty strain, could now scarcely draw his breath ; 
and from time to time threw supplicating looks on 
the spectators, as if entreating them to wait pati- 
ently till he had recovered strength sufficient to 
continue his performance. 

The colonel informed them in the mean while of 
the species of jest that he had projected to play on 
them, and for the failure of which he could not at 
that moment account. At last Calzolaro, with an 
abashed air, spoke as follows :— 

" The spectacle which I designed to have given, 
has terminated in a terrible manner for me. But, 
happily for the honourable company present, I 
perceive they did not see the frightful apparition 
which caused me a temporary privation of my rea- 
son. Scarcely had I raised the death's head on the 
point of my sword, and had begun to address it, 
than it appeared to me in my father's features: 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 113 

and whether my ears deceived me or not, I am 
ignorant ; neither do I know how I was restored 
to my senses; but I heard it say, 'Tremble, parri- 
cide, whom nothing can convert, and who wilt not 
turn to the path thou hast abandoned!' M 

The very recollection produced such horror on 
Calzolaro's mind as to stop his respiration and 
prevent his proceeding. The colonel briefly ex- 
plained to the spectators what appeared to them 
mysterious in his words, and then said to the peni- 
tent juggler: 

" Since your imagination has played you so 
strange a trick, I exhort you in future to avoid all 
similar accidents, and to accept the arrangement 
proposed to you by the person whom your father 
has named as his heir." 

" No, monsieur," answered he, " no agreement, 
no bargain ; else I shall only half fulfil my duty* 
Every thing shall belong to this heiress, and the 
law-suit shall be abandoned." 

He at the same time declared that he was 
weary of the mode of life he had adopted, and that 
every wish of his father's should be fulfilled. 

The colonel told him that such a resolution 
compensated for what had failed in the evening's 
amusement. 

The company, however, did not cease making 
numberless inquiries of Calzolaro, many of which 

I 



114 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

were very ludicrous. They were anxious to know, 
among other things, whether the head which had 
appeared to him, resembled that of a corpse or a 
living being. 

" It most probably belongs to a corpse," he re- 
plied. " I was so thunderstruck with the horrible 
effect of it, that I cannot remember minutiae. 
Imagine an only son, with the point of a sword 
which he holds in his hand, piercing his father's 
skull ! The bare idea is sufficient to deprive one 
of one's senses." 

" I did not believe," answered the colonel, after 
having for some time considered Calzolaro, " that 
the conscience of a man, who like you has ram- 
bled the world over, could still be so much over- 
come by the powers of imagination." 

" What ! monsieur, do you still doubt the re- 
ality of the apparition, though I am ready to attest 
it by the most sacred oaths ?" 

" Your assertion contradicts itself. We have also 
our eyes to see what really exists ; and nobody, ex- 
cepting yourself, saw any other than a simple skull." 

" That is what I cannot explain : but this I can 
add, that I am firmly persuaded, although even 
now I cannot account for my so thinking, that as 
sure as I exist, that head is actually and truly the 
head of my father : I am ready to attest it by my 
most solemn oath." 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 115 

"To prevent your perjuring yourself, they shall 
instantly go to the sexton, and learn the truth." 

Saying this, the colonel went out to give the ne- 
cessary orders. He returned an instant afterwards, 
saying : — 

" Here is another strange phenomenon. The 
sexton is in this house, but is not able to answer 
my questions. Anxious to enjoy the spectacle I 
was giving my friends, he mixed with some of my 
servants, who, possessing the same degree of cu- 
riosity, had softly opened the door through which 
the chaffing-dish was conveyed. But at the mo- 
ment of the conjurer falling on the floor, the same 
insensibility overcame the sexton ; who even now 
has not recovered his reason, although they have 
used every possible method to restore him/' 

One of the party said, that, being subject to 
fainting himself, he constantly carried about him a 
liquor, the effect of which was wonderful in such 
cases, and that he would go and try it now on the 
sexton. They all followed him : but this did not 
succeed better than the methods previously re- 
sorted to. 

" This man must indeed be dead," said the per- 
son who had used the liquor without effect on 
him. 

The clock in the tower had just struck one, and 
every person thought of retiring; but slight sym- 

i 2 



116 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ptoms of returning life being perceptible in the sex- 
ton, they still remained. 

" God be praised !" exclaimed the sexton awak- 
ing ; " he is at length restored to rest !" 

" Who, old dad ?" said the colonel. 

" Our late schoolmaster." 

" What then, that head was actually his ?" 

" Alas ! if you will only promise not to be an- 
gry with me, I will confess It was his." 

The colonel then asked him how the idea of 
disturbing the schoolmaster's corpse in particular 
came into his head. 

u Owing to a diabolical boldness. It is com- 
monly believed, that when a child speaks to the 
head of its deceased parent at the midnight hour, 
the head comes to life again. I was anxious 
to prove the fact, but shall never recover from its 
effects : happily, however, the head is actually re- 
stored to rest." 

They asked him how he knew it. He answered, 
that he had seen it all the while he was in a state 
of lethargy ; that as the clock struck one, his wife 
had finished re-interring the head in its grave. And 
he described in the most minute manner how she 
held it. 

The curiosity of the company assembled was 
so much excited by witnessing these inexplicable 
events, that they awaited the return of the servant 



THE DEATHS HEAD. 117 

whom the colonel had dispatched to the sexton's 
wife. Every thing had happened precisely as he 
described ; — the clock struck one at the very mo- 
ment the head was laid in the grave. 

These events had produced to the spectators a 
night of much greater terrors than the colonel had 
prepared for them. Nay, even his imagination 
was raised to such a pitch, that the least breadi of 
wind, or the slightest noise, appeared to him as a 
forerunner to some disagreeable visitor from the 
world of spirits. 

He was out of his bed at dawn of day, to look 
out of his window and see the occasion of the 
noise which at that hour was heard at the inn-door. 
He saw the rope-dancers seated in the carriage, 
about to take their departure. Calzolaro was not 
with them ; but presently afterwards came to the 
side of the vehicle, where he took leave of them : 
the children seemed to leave him behind with re* 
gret. 

The carriage drove off ; and the colonel made 
a signal to Calzolaro to come and speak to him. 

" I apprehend," said he to him, when he came 
in, " that you have taken entire leave of your 
troop." 

" Well, monsieur, ought I not so to do ?" 

" It appears to me a procedure in which you 
have acted with as little reflection as the one 



118 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

which tempted you first to join them. You ought 
rather to have availed yourself of some favourable 
occasion for withdrawing the little capital that you 
have in their funds." 

" Do you then, monsieur colonel, forget what 
has happened to me; and that I could not have en- 
joyed another moment of repose in the society of 
persons who are only externally men ? Every time 
I recall the scene of last night to my recollection, 
my very blood freezes in my veins. From this mo- 
ment I must do all in my power to appease my 
father's shade, which is now so justly incensed 
against me. Without much effort I have with- 
drawn myself from a profession which never had 
any great charms for me. Reflect only on the 
misery of being the chief of a troop, who, to earn 
a scanty morsel of bread, are compelled every mo- 
ment to risk their lives i — and even this morsel of 
bread not always attainable. Moreover, I know 
that the clown belonging to the troop, who is a 
man devoid of all sentiment, has for a long while 
aspired to become the chief : and I know that he 
has for some time been devising various means to 
remove me from this world ; therefore it appears 
to me that I have not been precipitate in relin- 
quishing my rights to him for a trifling sum of 
money. I only feel for the poor children ; and 
would willingly have purchased them, to save them 



THE DEATH'S HEAD. 110 

from so unhappy a career ; but he would not take 
any price for them. I have only one consolation, 
which is, the hope that the inhuman treatment they 
will experience at his hands will induce them to 
make their escape, and follow a better course of 
life." 

" And what do you purpose doing yourself ?" 

" I have told you, that I shall retire to some 
obscure corner of Germany, and follow the pro- 
fession to which my father destined me." 

The colonel made him promise to wait a little ; 
and, if possible, he would do something for him. 

In the interim, the heiress to his father's pro- 
perty arrived, to have a conference on the subject 
with him. As soon as he had made known his in- 
tentions to her, she entreated him no longer to re- 
fuse half the inheritance, or at least to receive it as 
a voluntary gift on her part. The goodness, the 
sweetness of this young person, (who was pretty 
also,) so pleased Calzolaro, that a short time after- 
wards he asked her hand in marriage. She con- 
sented to give it to him. And the colonel then 
exerted himself more readily in behalf of this man, 
who had already gained his favour. He fulfilled 
his wishes, by sending him to a little property be- 
longing to his wife, to follow the profession his 
father had fixed on for him. 

Ere he set off, Calzolaro resumed his German 



120 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

name of Schurster. The good pastor, who had so 
recently felt indignant at his obstinacy, gave the 
nuptial benediction to the happy couple in pre- 
sence of the colonel and his family, who on this 
occasion gave an elegant entertainment at the 
chateau. 

In the evening, a little after sun-set, the bride 
and bridegroom were walking in the garden, at 
some little distance from the rest of the company, 
and appeared plunged in a deep reverie. All 
on a sudden they looked at each other ; for it 
seemed to them, that some one took a hand of 
each and united them. They declared, at least, 
that the idea of this action having taken place 
came to them both so instantaneously and so in- 
voluntarily, that they were astonished at it them- 
selves. 

An instant afterwards, they distinctly heard these 
words : — 

" May God bless your union !" pronounced by 
the voice of Calzolaro's father. 

The bridegroom told the colonel, some time af- 
terwards, that without these consolatory words, the 
terrible apparition which he saw on the memorable 
night, would assuredly have haunted him all his 
life, and have impoisoned his happiest moments. 



IV. 
THE DEATH-BRIDE. 



" She shall be such 



As walk'd your first queen's ghost- 



Shakspeare. 



1 he summer had been uncommonly fine, and the 
baths crowded with company beyond all compari- 
son : but still the public rooms were scarce ever fill- 
ed, and never gay. The nobility and military asso- 
ciated only with those of their own rank, and the 
citizens contented themselves by slandering both 
parties. So many partial divisions necessarily 
proved an obstacle to a general and united as- 
sembly. 

Even the public balls did not draw the beau- 
monde together, because the proprietor of the 
baths appeared there bedizened with insignia of 
knighthood ; and this glitter, added to the stiff 
manners of this great man's family, and the tribe 
of lackeys in splendid liveries who constantly at- 
tended him, compelled the greater part of the com- 



122 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

pany assembled, silently to observe the rules pre- 
scribed to them according to their different ranks. 

For these reasons the balls became gradually 
less numerously attended. Private parties were 
formed, in which it was endeavoured to preserve 
the charms that were daily diminishing in the pub- 
lic assemblies. 

One of these societies met generally twice a 
week in a room which at that time was usually 
unoccupied. There they supped, and afterwards 
enjoyed, either in a walk abroad, or remaining in 
the room, the charms of unrestrained conversation. 

The members of this society were already ac- 
quainted, at least by name ; but an Italian marquis, 
who had lately joined their party, was unknown to 
them, and indeed to every one assembled at the 
baths. 

The title of Italian marquis appeared the more 
singular, as his name, according to the entry of it 
in the general list, seemed to denote him of North- 
ern extraction, and was composed of so great a 
number of consonants, that no one could pro- 
nounce it without difficulty. 

His physiognomy and manners likewise pre- 
sented many singularities. His long and wan visage, 
his black eyes, his imperious look, had so little of 
attraction in them, that every one would certainly 
have avoided him, had he not possessed a fund of 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 123 

entertaining stories, the relation of which proved 
an excellent antidote to ennui: the only draw- 
back against them was, that in general they re- 
quired rather too great a share of credulity on the 
part of his auditors. 

The party had one day just risen from table, 
and found themselves but ill inclined for gaiety. 
They were still too much fatigued from the ball of 
the preceding evening to enjoy the recreation of 
walking, although invited so to do by the bright 
light of the moon. They were even unable to 
keep up any conversation; therefore it is not to be 
wondered at, that they were more than usually 
anxious for the marquis to arrive. 

" Where can he be?" exclaimed the countess 
in an impatient tone. 

" Doubtless still at the faro- table, to the no 
small grief of the bankers," replied Florentine. 
" This very morning he has occasioned the sudden 
departure of two of these gentlemen." 

" No great loss," answered another. 

"To us /'replied Florentine; "but it is to 

the proprietor of the baths, who only prohibited 
gambling, that it might be pursued with greater 
avidity." 

" The marquis ought to abstain from such 
achievements," said the chevalier with an air of 
mystery. " Gamblers are revengeful, and have ge- 



124 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

nerally advantageous connections. If what is whis- 
pered be correct, that the marquis is unfortunately 
implicated in political affairs ." 

" But," demanded the countess, "what then has 
the marquis done to the bankers of the gaming- 
table r 

" Nothing ; except that he betted on cards 
which almost invariably won. And what renders 
it rather singular, he scarcely derived any advan- 
tage from it himself, for he always adhered to the 
weakest party. But the other punters were not so 
scrupulous ; for they charged their cards in such a 
manner that the bank broke before the deal had 
gone round/' 

The countess was on the point of asking other 
questions, when the marquis coming in changed 
the conversation. 

" Here you are at last !" exclaimed several per- 
sons at the same moment. 

" We have," said the countess, " been most 
anxious for your society ; and just on this day you 
have been longer than usual absent." 

" I have projected an important expedition ; and 
it has succeeded to my wishes. I hope by to- 
morrow there will not be a single gaming-table 
left here. I have been from one gambling-room 
to another ; and there are not sufficient post-horses 
to carry off the ruined bankers." 



THE DEATII-BRIDE. 125 

u And cannot you," asked the countess, " teach 
us your wonderful art of always winning ?" 

" It would be a difficult task, my fair lady; and 
in order to do it, one must ensure a fortunate hand, 
for without that nothing could be done." 

" Nay," replied the chevalier, laughing, " never 
did I see so fortunate an one as yours." 

" As you are still very young, my dear chevalier, 
you have many novelties to witness." 

Saying these words, the marquis threw on the 
chevalier so piercing a look that the latter cried : 

" Will you then cast my nativity ?" 

" Provided that it is not done to-day," said the 
countess ; " for who knows whether your future 
destiny will afford us so amusing a history as that 
which the marquis two days since promised we 
should enjoy ?" 

" I did not exactly say amusing" 

" But at least full of extraordinary events : and 
we require some such, to draw us from the lethargy 
which has overwhelmed us all day." 

" Most willingly : but first I am anxious to 
learn whether any of you know aught of the sur- 
prising things related of the Death- Bride." 

No one remembered to have heard speak of 
her. . 

The marquis appeared anxious to add something 
more by way of preface; but the countess and the 



126 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

rest of the party so openly manifested their impa- 
tience, that the marquis began his narration as 
follows : — 

" I had for a long time projected a visit to the 
count Lieppa, at his estates in Bohemia. We had 
met each other in almost every country in Europe : 
attracted hither by the frivolity of youth to partake 
of every pleasure which presented itself, but led 
thither when years of discretion had rendered us 
more sedate and steady. — At length, in our more 
advanced age, we ardently desired, ere the close of 
life, once again to enjoy, by the charms of recol- 
lection, the moments of delight which we had 
passed together. For my part, I was anxious to 
see the castle of my friend, which was, according 
to his description, in an extremely romantic dis- 
trict. It was built some hundred years back by his 
ancestors; and their successors had preserved it 
with so much care, that it still maintained its im- 
posing appearance, at the same time it afforded 
a comfortable abode. The count generally passed 
the greater part of the year at it with his family, 
and only returned to the capital at the approach of 
winter. Being well acquainted with his move- 
ments, I did not think it needful to announce my 
visit ; and I arrived at the castle one evening pre- 
cisely at the time when I knew he would be there ; 
and as I approached it, could not but admire the 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 127 

variety and beauty of the scenery which sur- 
rounded it. 

" The hearty welcome which I received could 
not, however, entirely conceal from my observation 
the secret grief depicted on the countenances of the 
count, his wife, and their daughter, the lovely Ida. 
In a short time I discovered that they still mourned 
the loss of Ida's twin-sister, who had died about a 
year before. Ida and Hildegarde resembled each 
other so much, that they were only to be distin- 
guished from each other by a slight mark of a 
strawberry visible on Hildegarde's neck. Her 
room, and every thing in it, was left precisely in the 
same state as when she was alive, and the family 
were in the habit of visiting it whenever they wished 
to indulge the sad satisfaction of meditating on the 
loss of this beloved child. The two sisters had but 
one heart, one mind : and the parents could not but 
apprehend that their separation would be but of 
short duration ; they dreaded lest Ida should also 
be taken from them. 

" I did every thing in my power to amuse this 
excellent family, by entertaining them with laugh- 
able anecdotes of my younger days, and by direct- 
ing their thoughts to less melancholy subjects than 
that which now wholly occupied them. I had the 
satisfaction of discovering that my efforts were not 
ineffectual. Sometimes we walked in the canton 



128 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

round the castle, which was decked with all the 
beauties of summer; at other times we took a sur- 
vey of the different apartments of the castle, and 
were astonished at their wonderful state of pre- 
servation, whilst we amused ourselves by talking 
over the actions of the past generation, whose por- 
traits hung in a long gallery. 

" One evening the count had been speaking to 
me in confidence, on the subject of his future 
plans: among other subjects he expressed his 
anxiety, that Ida (who had already, though only in 
her sixteenth year, refused several offers) should 
be happily married ; when suddenly the gardener, 
quite out of breath, came to tell us he had seen the 
ghost (as he believed, the old chaplain belonging 
to the castle), who had appeared a century back. 
Several of the servants followed the gardener, and 
their pallid countenances confirmed the alarming 
tidings he had brought. 

" ' I believe you will shortly be afraid of your 
own shadow/ said the count to them. He then 
sent them off, desiring them not again to trouble 
him with the like fooleries. 

" ■ It is really terrible,' said he to me, ( to see to 
what lengths superstition will carry persons of 
that rank of life ; and it is impossible wholly to un- 
deceive them. From one generation to another an 
absurd report has from time to time been spread 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 129 

abroad, of an old chaplain's ghost wandering in 
the environs of the castle; and that he says mass in 
the chapel, with other idle stories of a similar na- 
ture. This report has greatly died away since I 
came into possession of the castle ; but it now ap- 
pears to me, it will never be altogether forgotten.' 

"At this moment the duke de Marino was an- 
nounced. The count did not recollect ever hav- 
ing heard of him. 

" I told him that I was tolerably well acquainted 
with his family; and that I had lately been present, 
in Venice, at the betrothing of a young man of that 
name. 

" The very same young man came in while I 
was speaking. I should have felt very glad at 
seeing him, had I not perceived that my presence 
caused him evident uneasiness. 

" ' Ah/ said he in a tolerably gay tone, after 
the customary forms of politeness had passed be- 
tween us ; ' the finding you here, my dear mar- 
quis, explains to me an occurrence, which with 
shame I own caused me a sensation of fear. To 
my no small surprise, they knew my name in the 
adjacent distr ; f ; and as I came up the hill which 
leads to the astle, I heard it pronounced three 
times in a voice wholly unknown to me : and in a 
still more audible tont, this strange voice bade me 
welcome. I now, however, conclude it was yours/ 

K 



ISO TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" J assured him, (and with truth,) that till his 
name was announced the minute before, I was ig- 
norant of his arrival, and that none of my servants 
knew him ; for that the valet who accompanied 
me into Italy was not now with me. 

" ' And above all/ added I, ' it would be im- 
possible to discover any equipage, however well 
known to one, in so dark an evening.' 

" ' That is what astonishes me/ exclaimed the 
duke, a little amazed. 

" The incredulous count very politely added, 
' that the voice which had told the duke he was 
welcome, had at least expressed the sentiments of 
all the family/ 

" Marino, ere he said a word relative to the mo- 
tive of his visit, asked a private audience of me ; 
and confided in me, by telling me that he was come 
with the intention of obtaining the lovely Ida's 
hand; and that if he was able to procure her 
consent, he should demand her of her father. 

" ' The countess Apollonia, your bride elect, is 
then no longer living ?' asked I. 

" f We will talk on that subject hereafter/ an- 
swered he. 

" The deep sigh which accompanied these 
words led me to conclude that Apollonia had 
been guilty of infidelity or some other crime to- 
wards the duke ; and consequently I thought that 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 131 

I ought to abstain from any further questions, 
which appeared to rend his heart, already so sensi- 
bly wounded. 

" Yet, as he begged me to become his media- 
tor with the count, in order to obtain from him 
his consent to the match, I painted in glowing co- 
lours the danger of an alliance, which he had no 
other motive for contracting, than the wish to ob- 
literate the remembrance of a dearly, and without 
doubt, still more tenderly, beloved object. But he 
assured me that he was far from thinking of the 
lovely Ida from so blameable a motive, and that 
he should be the happiest of men if she but proved 
propitious to his wishes. 

" His expressive and penetrating tone of voice, 
while he said this, lulled the uneasiness that I was 
beginning to feel ; and I promised him I would 
prepare the count Lieppa to listen to his entrea- 
ties, and would give him the necessary information 
relative to the fortune and family of Marino. 
But I declared to him at the same time, that I 
should by no means hurry the conclusion of the 
affair by my advice, as I was not in the habit of 
taking upon myself so great a charge as the uncer- 
tain issue of a marriage. 

" The duke signified his satisfaction at what I 
said, and made me give (what then appeared to 
mc of no consequence) a promise, that I would not 



1S2 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

make mention of the former marriage he was orr 
the point of contracting, as it would necessarily 
bring on a train of unpleasant explanations. 

" The duke's views succeeded with a promptitude 
beyond his most sanguine hopes. His well-pro- 
portioned form and sparkling eyes smoothed the 
paths of love, and introduced him to the heart of 
Ida. His agreeable conversation promised to the 
mother an amiable son-in-law ; and the knowledge 
in rural economy, which he evinced as occasions of- 
fered, made the count hope for an useful helpmate 
in his usual occupations ; for since the first day of 
the duke's arrival he had been prevented from 
pursuing them. 

" Marino followed up these advantages with 
great ardour ; and I was one evening much sur- 
prised by the intelligence of his being betrothed, 
as I did not dream of matters drawing so near a 
conclusion. They spoke at table of some bridal 
preparations of which I had made mention just 
before the duke's arrival at the castle; and the 
countess asked me whether that young Marino 
was a near relation of the one who was that very 
day betrothed to her daughter/ 

" ' Near enough,' I answered, recollecting my 
promise. — Marino looked at me with an air of em- 
barrassment. 

iC i But, my dear duke,' continued I, ' tell me 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 133 

who mentioned the amiable Ida to you ; or was it 
a portrait, or what else, which caused you to think 
of looking for a beauty, the selection of whom 
does so much honour to your taste, in this remote 
corner; for, if I am not mistaken, you said but 
yesterday that you had purposed travelling about for 
another six months ; when all at once (I believe 
while in Paris) you changed your plan, and pro- 
jected a journey wholly and solely to see the 
charming Idar' 

" * Yes, it was at Paris/ replied the duke ; l you 
are very rightly informed. I went there to see and 
admire the superb gallery of pictures at the Mu- 
seum ; but 1 had scarcely entered it, when my eyes 
turned from the inanimate beauties, and were ri- 
veted on a lady whose incomparable features were 
heightened by an air of melancholy. With fear 
and trembling I approached her, and only ventured 
to follow' without speaking to her. I still followed 
her after she quitted the gallery ; and I drew her 
servant aside to learn the name of his mistress. He 
told it me : but when I expressed a wish to be- 
come acquainted with the father of this beauty, he 
said that was next to impossible while at Paris, as 
the family were on the point of quitting that city; 
nay, of quitting France altogether. 

" ' Possibly, however/ said I, l some opportunity 
may present itself.' And I looked every where for 



134 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

the lady : but she, probably imagining that her ser- 
vant was following her closely, had continued to 
walk on, and was entirely out of sight. While I 
was looking around for her, the servant had like- 
wise vanished from my view.' 

" ( Who was this beautiful lady ?' asked Ida, in a 
tone of astonishment. 

tc ' What ! you really did not then perceive me 
in the gallery F 

« < Me !'- ( My daughter !' exclaimed at 

the same moment Ida and her parents. 

" ' Yes, you yourself, mademoiselle. The ser- 
vant, whom fortunately for me you left at Paris, 
and whom I met the same evening unexpectedly, 
as my guardian angel, informed me of all ; so that 
after a short rest at home, I was able to come 
straight hither.' 

" ' What a fable !' said the count to his daugh- 
ter, who was mute with astonishment. 

" { Ida,' he added, turning to me, { has never yet 
been out of her native country ; and for myself, I 
have not been in Paris these seventeen years.' 

" The duke looked at the count and his daughter 
with similar marks of astonishment visible in their 
countenances; and conversation would have been 
entirely at an end, if I had not taken care to intro- 
duce other topics: but I had it nearly all to 
myself. 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 133 

" The repast was no sooner over, than the count 
took the duke into the recess of a window ; and al- 
though I was at a considerable distance, and ap- 
peared wholly to fix my attention on a new chan- 
delier, I overheard all their conversation. 

" ' What motive,' demanded the count with a se- 
rious and dissatisfied air, * could have induced you 
to invent that singular scene in the gallery of the 
Museum at Paris ? for according to my judgment, 
it could in no way benefit you. Since you are 
anxious to conceal the cause which brought you to 
ask my daughter in marriage, at least you might 
have plainly said as much; and though possibly 
you might have felt repugnance at making such a 
declaration, there were a thousand ways of fram- 
ing your answer, without its being ueedful thus to 
offend probability.' 

" ' Monsieur le comte/ replied the duke much 
piqued ; ' I held my peace at table, thinking that 
possibly you had reasons for wishing to keep secret 
your and your daughter's journey to Paris. I 
was silent merely from motives of discretion ; but 
the singularity of your reproaches compels me to 
maintain what I have said ; and, notwithstanding 
your reluctance to believe the truth, to declare 
before all the world, that the capital of France 
was the spot where I firsf saw your daughter Ida/ 

" ' But what if I prove to you, not only by the 



136 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

witness of my servants, but also by that of all my 
tenants, that my daughter has never quitted her na 
tive place ?' — 

" ' I shall still believe the evidence of my own 
eyes and ears, which have as great authority over 
me.' \ 

" € What you say is really enigmatical,' answered 
the count in a graver tone : 6 your serious man- 
ner convinces me you have been the dupe of some 
illusion ; and that you have seen some other person, 
whom you have taken for my daughter. Excuse me, 
therefore, for having taken up the thing so warmly.' 

" ' Another person ! What then, I not only mis- 
took another person for your daughter; but the 
very servant of whom I made mention, and who 
gave me so exact a description of this castle, was, 
according to what you say, some other person !' 

" * My dear Marino, that servant was some cheat 
who knew this castle, and who, God only knows 
for what motive, spoke to you of my daughter as 
resembling the lady.' 

" ' 'Tis certainly no wish of mine to contradict 
you ; but Ida's features are precisely the same as 
those which made so deep an impression on me at 
Paris, and which my imagination has preserved 
with such scrupulous fidelity.' 

"The count shook his head; and Marino conti-* 
nued : — 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 137 

" ' What is still more — (but pray pardon mo for 
mentioning a little particularity, which nothing 
short of necessity would have drawn from me) — 
while in the gallery, I was standing behind the la- 
dy, and the handkerchief that covered her neck was 
a little disarranged, which occasioned me distinctly 
to perceive the mark of a small strawberry.' 

" ' Another strange mystery !' exclaimed the 
count, turning pale : ' it appears you are deter- 
mined to make me believe wonderful stories.' 

" ' I have only one question to ask : — Has Ida 
such a mark on her neck ?' 

" l No, monsieur/ replied the count, looking 
steadfastly at Marino. 

" ' No !' exclaimed the latter, in the utmost 
astonishment. 

" ' No, I tell you : but Ida's twin-sister, who re- 
sembled her in the most surprising manner, had the 
mark you mention on her neck, and a year since 
carried it with her into the grave.' 

" ' And yet 'tis only within the last few months 
that I saw this person in Paris !' 

" At this moment the countess and Ida, who had 
kept aside, a prey to uneasiness, not knowing what 
to think of the conversation, which appeared of so 
very important a nature, approached; but the 
count in a commanding tone ordered them to 
retire immediately. He then led the duke entirely 



138 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

away into a retired corner of the window, and con- 
tinued the conversation in so low a voice that I 
could hear nothing further. 

" My astonishment was extreme when, that very 
same evening, the count gave orders to have Hil- 
degarde's tomb opened in his presence: but he be- 
forehand related briefly what I have just told you, 
and proposed my assisting the duke and him in 
opening the grave. The duke excused himself, by- 
saying that the very idea made him tremble with 
horror ; for he could not overcome, especially at 
night, his fear of a corpse. 

"The count begged he would not mention • the 
gallery scene to any one ; and above all, to spare 
the extreme sensibility of the affianced bride from 
a recital of the conversation they had just had, 
even if she should request to be informed of it. 

" In the mean time the sexton arrived with his 
lantern. The count and I followed him. 

" i It is morally impossible,' said the count to 
me, as we walked together, e that any trick can have 
been played respecting my daughter's death : the 
circumstances attendant thereon are but too well 
known to me. You may readily believe also, that 
the affection we bore our poor girl would prevent 
our running any risk of burying her too soon : but 
suppose even the possibility of that, and that the 
tomb had been opened by some avaricious persons, 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. \3Q 

who found, on opening the coffin, that the body be- 
came re-animated ; no one can believe for a mo- 
ment that my daughter would not have instantly 
returned to her parents, who doted on her, rather 
than have fled to a distant country. This last cir- 
cumstance puts the matter beyond doubt: for even 
should it be admitted as a truth, that she was car- 
ried by force to some distant part of the world, 
she would have found a thousand ways of return- 
ing. My eyes are, however, about to be convinced, 
that the sacred remains of my Hildegarde really 
repose in the grave. 

" ' To convince myself !' cried he again, in a tone 
of voice so melancholy yet loud that the sexton 
turned his head. 

" This movement rendered the count more cir- 
cumspect; and he continued in a lower tone of 
voice : 

" ' How should T for a moment believe it possi- 
ble that the slightest trace of my daughter's features 
should be still in existence, or that the destruc- 
tive hand of time should have spared her beauty ? 
Let us return, marquis ; for who could tell, even 
were I to see the skeleton, that I should know 
it from that of an entire stranger, whom they may 
have placed in the tomb to fill her place ?' 

" He was even about to give orders not to open 
the door of the chapel, (at which we were just ar- 



140 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

rived,) when I represented to him, that were I in 
his place I should have found it extremely diffi- 
cult to determine on such a measure ; but that 
having gone thus far, it was requisite to complete 
the task, by examining whether some of the jewels 
buried with Hildegarde's corpse were not want- 
ing. I added, that judging by a number of well- 
known facts, all bodies were not destroyed equally 
soon. 

" My representations had the desired effect : the 
count squeezed my hand ; and we followed the sex- 
ton, who, by his pallid countenance and trembling 
limbs, evidently shewed that he was unaccustomed 
to nocturnal employments of this nature. 

(i I know not whether any of this present com- 
pany were ever in a chapel at midnight, before the 
iron doors of a vault, about to examine the succes- 
sion of leaden coffins enclosing the remains of an 
illustrious family. Certain it is, that at such a mo- 
ment the noise of bolts and bars produces such a 
remarkable sensation, that one is led to dread the 
sound of the door grating on its hinges ; and when 
the vault is opened, one cannot help hesitating for 
an instant to enter it. 

" The count was evidently seized with these sen- 
sations of terror, which 1 discovered by a stifled 
sigh ; but he concealed his feelings : notwithstand- 
ing, I remarked that he dared not trust himself to 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 141 

look on any other coffin than the one containing 
his daughter's remains. He opened it himself. 

" i Did I not say so V cried he, seeing that the 
features of the corpse bore a perfect resemblance to 
those of Ida. I was obliged to prevent the count, 
who was seized with astonishment, from kissing the 
forehead of the inanimate body. 

" ' Do not/ I added, * disturb the peace of those 
who repose in death/ And I used my utmost ef- 
forts to withdraw the count immediately from this 
dismal abode. 

" On our return to the castle, we found those per- 
sons whom we had left there, in an anxious state of 
suspense. The two ladies had closely questioned 
the duke on what had passed ; and would not ad- 
mit as a valid excuse, the promise he had made of 
secrecy. They entreated us also, but in vain, to sa- 
tisfy their curiosity. 

" They succeeded better the following day with 
the sexton, whom they sent for privately, and who 
told them all he knew : but it only tended to ex- 
cite their anxious wish to learn the subject of the 
conversation which had occasioned this nocturnal 
visit to the sepulchral vault. 

" As for myself, I dreamt the whole of the fol- 
lowing night of the apparition Marino had seen at 
Paris ; I conjectured many things which 1 did not 
think fit to communicate to the count, because he 



142 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

absolutely questioned the connection of a superior 
world with ours. At this juncture of affairs, I 
with pleasure saw that this singular circumstance, 
if not entirely forgotten, was at least but rarely and 
slightly mentioned. 

" But I now began to find another cause for 
anxious solicitude. The duke constantly persisted 
in refusing to explain himself on the subject of his 
previous engagement, even when we were alone : 
and the embarrassment he could not conceal, 
whenever I made mention of the good qualities 
that I believed his intended to have possessed, as 
well as several other little singularities, led me to 
conclude that Marino's attachment for Apollonia 
had been first shaken at the picture gallery, at 
sight of the lovely incognita; and that Apollonia 
had been forsaken, owing to his yielding to temp- 
tations; and that doubtless she could never have 
been guilty of breaking off an alliance so solemnly 
contracted. 

Foreseeing from this that the charming Ida 
could never hope to find much happiness in an 
union with Marino, and knowing that the wedding- 
day was nigh at hand, I resolved to unmask the 
perfidious deceiver as quickly as possible, and to 
make him repent his infidelity. An excellent oc- 
casion presented itself one day for me to accom- 
plish my designs, Having finished supper, we 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 143 

were still sitting at table ; and some one said that 
iniquity is frequently punished in this world : upon 
which I observed, that I myself had witnessed 
striking proofs of the truth of this remark ; —when 
Ida and her mother entreated me to name one of 
these examples. 

u t Under these circumstances, ladies,' answered 
I, € permit me to relate a history to you, which, 
according to my opinion, will particularly interest 
you/ 

<(< Us !' they both exclaimed. At the same time 
I fixed my eyes on the duke, who for several days 
past had evidently distrusted me ; and I saw that 
his conscience had rendered him pale. 

" i That at least is my opinion/ replied I : ' But, 
my dear count, will you pardon me, if the super- 
natural is sometimes interwoven with my narra- 
tion ?' 

" ' Very willingly,' answered he smiling : ' and 
I will content myself with expressing my surprise 
at so many things of this sort having happened to 
you, as I have never experienced any of them my- 
self.' 

" I plainly perceived that the duke made signs of 
approval at what he said : but 1 took no notice of 
it, and answered the count by saying, 

" That all the world have not probably the use 
of their eyes. 



144 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" ' That may be/ replied he, still smiling. 

" * But,' said I to him in a low and expressive 
voice, ' think you an uncorrupted body in the 
vault is a common phenomenon?' 

" He appeared staggered : and I thus continued 
in an under tone of voice : — 

" ' For that matter, 'tis very possible to account 
for it naturally, and therefore it would be useless 
to contest the subject with you/ 

" ' We are wandering from the point,' said the 
countess a little angrily; and she made me a sign to 
begin, which I accordingly did, in the following 
words : — 

" ' The scene of my anecdote lies in Venice.' 

" 1 1 possibly then may know something of it/ 
cried the duke, who entertained some suspicions. 

" l Possibly so/ replied I ; l but there were rea- 
sons for keeping the event secret : it happened 
somewhere about eighteen months since, at the pe- 
riod you first set out on your travels. 

" The son of an extremely wealthy nobleman, 
whom I shall designate by the name of Filippo, 
being attracted to Leghorn by the affairs conse- 
quent on his succession to an inheritance, had won 
the heart of an amiable and lovely girl, called 
Clara. He promised her, as well as her parents, 
that ere his return to Venice he would come back 
and marry her. The moment for his departure 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 145 

was preceded by certain ceremonies, which in 
their termination were terrible : for after the two 
lovers had exhausted every protestation of recipro- 
cal affection, Filippo invoked the aid of the spirit 
of vengeance, in case of infidelity : they prayed even 
that whichever of the lovers should prove faithful 
might not be permitted to repose quietly in the 
grave, but should haunt the perjured one, and force 
the inconstant party to come amongst the dead, 
and to share in the grave those sentiments which 
on earth had been forgotten. 

" The parents, who were seated by them at ta- 
ble, remembered their youthful days, and permit- 
ted the overheated and romantic imagination of the 
young people to take its free course. The lovers 
finished by making punctures in their arms, and 
letting their blood run into a glass filled with 
white champaigne. 

" i Our souls shall be inseparable as our blood !' 
exclaimed Filippo ; and drinking half the contents 
of the glass, he gave the rest to Clara." 

At this moment the duke experienced a violent 
degree of agitation, and from time to time 
darted such menacing looks at me, that I was led 
to conclude, that in his adventure some scene of a 
similar nature had taken place. I can however 
affirm, that I related the details respecting Filip- 



146 TALES OE THE DEAD. 

po's departure, as they were represented in a let- 
ter written by the mother of Clara. 

" Who," continued I, " after so many demon- 
strations of such a violent passion, could have ex- 
pected the denouement ? Filippo's return to Ve- 
nice happened precisely at the period at which a 
young beauty, hitherto educated in a distant con- 
vent, made her first appearance in the great world : 
she on a sudden exhibited herself as an angel whom 
a cloud had till then concealed, and excited univer- 
sal admiration. Filippo's parents had heard fre- 
quent mention of Clara, and of the projected alli- 
ance between her and their son ; but they thought 
that this alliance was like many others, contracted 
one day without the parties knowing why, and 
broken off the next with equal want of thought; 
and influenced by this idea, they presented their 
son to the parents of Camilla, (which was the name 
of the young beauty,) whose family were of the 
highest rank. 

" They represented to Filippo the great ad- 
vantages he would obtain by an alliance with her. 
The Carnival happening just at this period com- 
pleted the business, by affording him so many fa- 
vourable opportunities of being with Camilla ; and 
in the end, the remembrance of Leghorn held but 
very little place in his mind. His letters became 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 147 

colder and colder each succeeding day ; and on Cla- 
ra expressing how sensibly she felt the change, he 
ceased writing to her altogether, and did every thing 
in his power to hasten his union with Camilla, who 
was, without compare, much the handsomer and 
more wealthy. The agonies poor Clara endured 
were manifest in her illegible writing, and by the 
tears which were but too evidently shed over her 
letters : but neither the one nor the other had any 
more influence over the fickle heart of Filippo, than 
the prayers of the unfortunate girl. Even the menace 
of coming, according to their solemn agreement, 
from the tomb to haunt him, and carry him with 
her to that grave which threatened so soon to en- 
close her, had but little effect on his mind, which 
was entirely engrossed by the idea of the happi- 
ness he should enjoy in the arms of Camilla. 

li The father of the latter (who was my inti- 
mate friend) invited me before-hand to the wed- 
ding. And although numerous affairs detained 
him that summer in the city, so that he could not 
as usual enjoy the pleasures of the country, yet we 
sometimes went to his pretty villa, situated on the 
banks of the Brenta ; where his daughter's mar- 
riage was to be celebrated with all possible splen- 
dour. 

" A particular circumstance, however, occa- 
sioned the ceremony to be deferred for some weeks, 

L2 



148 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

The parents of Camilla having been very happy in 
their own union, were anxious that the same priest 
who married them, should pronounce the nuptial 
benediction on their daughter. This priest, who, 
notwithstanding his great age, had the appearance 
of vigorous health, was seized with a slow fever 
which confined him to his bed : however, in time it 
abated, he became gradually better and better, 
and the wedding-day was at length fixed. But, 
as if some secret power was at work to prevent 
this union, the worthy priest was, on the very day 
destined for the celebration of their marriage, 
seized with a feverish shivering of so alarming a 
nature, that he dared not stir out of the house, and 
he strongly advised the young couple to select an- 
other priest to marry them. 

" The parents still persisted in their design of 
the nuptial benediction being given to their chil- 
dren by the respectable old man who had married 
them. — They would have certainly spared them^ 
selves a great deal of grief, if they had never 
swerved from their determination. — Very grand 
preparations had been made in honour of the day; 
and as they could no longer be deferred, it was de- 
cided that they should consider it as a ceremony 
of solemn affiance. At noon the bargemen attired 
in their splendid garb awaited the company's ar- 
rival on the banks of the canal : their joyous song 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 149 

was soon distinguished, while conducting to the 
villa, now decorated with flowers, the numerous 
gondolas containing parties of the best company. 

" During the dinner, which lasted till evening, 
the betrothed couple exchanged rings. At the 
very moment of their so doing, a piercing shriek was 
heard, which struck terror into the breasts of all 
the company, and absolutely struck Filippo with 
horror. Every one ran to the windows : for al- 
though it was becoming dark, each object was vi- 
sible ; but no one was to be seen." 

" Stop an instant," said the duke to me, with a 
fierce smile— His countenance, which had frequently 
changed colour during the recital, evinced strong 
marks of the torments of a wicked conscience. 
" I am also acquainted with that story, of a voice 
being heard in the air ; it is borrowed from the 
1 Memoirs of Mademoiselle Clairon ;' a deceased 
lover tormented her in this completely original 
manner. The shriek in her case was followed by a 
clapping of hands: I hope, monsieur le marquis, 
that you will not omit that particular in your story." 

u And why," replied I, " should you imagine 
that nothing of a similar nature could occur to any 
one besides that actress ? Your incredulity appears 
to me so much the more extraordinary, as it seems 
to rest on facts which may lay claim to belief." 



150 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

The countess made me a sign to continue ; and 
I pursued my narrative as follows : 

" A short time after they had heard this inex- 
plicable shriek, I begged Camilla, facing whom I 
was sitting, to permit me to look at her ring once 
more, the exquisite workmanship of which had 
already been much admired. But it was not on 
her finger : a general search was made, but not the 
slightest trace of the ring could be discovered. 
The company even rose from their seats to look for 
it, but all in vain. 

" Meanwhile, the time for the evening's amuse- 
ments approached : fire- works were exhibited on 
the Brenta preceding the ball ; the company were 
masked and got into the gondolas; but nothing 
was so striking as the silence which reigned during 
this fete; no one seemed inclined to open their 
mouth : and scarcely was heard a faint exclama- 
tion of Bravo, at sight of the fire- works. 

" The ball was one of the most brilliant I ever 
witnessed: the precious stones and jewels with 
which the ladies of the party were covered, re- 
flected the lights in the chandeliers with redoubled 
lustre. The most splendidly attired of the whole 
was Camilla. Her father, who was fond of pomp, 
rejoiced in the idea that no one in the assembly 
was equal to his daughter in splendour or beauty. 



THE DEATH-DRIDE. 151 

u Possibly to satisfy himself of this fact, he 
made a tour of the room ; and returned loudly ex- 
pressing his surprise, at having perceived on an- 
other lady precisely the same jewels which adorned 
Camilla. He was even weak enough to express a 
slight degree of chagrin. However, he consoled 
himself with the idea, that a bouquet of diamonds 
which was destined for Camilla to wear at supper, 
would alone in value be greater than all she then 
had on. 

" But as they were on the point of sitting down 
to table, and the anxious father again threw a 
look around him, he discovered that the same lady 
had also a bouquet which appeared to the full as 
valuable as Camilla's. 

" My friend's curiosity could no longer be re- 
strained ; he approached, and asked whether it 
would be too great a liberty to learn the name of 
the fair mask ? But to his great surprise, the lady 
shook her head, and turned away from him. 

" At the same instant the steward came in, to 
ask whether since dinner there had been any ad- 
dition to the party, as the covers were not suffi- 
cient. 

" His master answered, with rather a dissatisfied 
air, that there were only the same number, and ac- 
cused his servants of negligence ; but the steward 
still persisted in what he had said. 



152 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" An additional cover was placed: the master 
counted them himself, and discovered that there 
really was one more in number than he had invited. 
As he had recently, on account of some inconside- 
rate expressions, had a dispute with government, 
he was apprehensive that some spy had contrived 
to slip in with the company : but as he had no rea- 
son to believe, that on such a day as that, any thing 
of a suspicious nature would be uttered, he re- 
solved, in order to be satisfied respecting so indis- 
creet a procedure as the introduction of such a 
person in a family fete, to beg every one present 
to unmask ; but in order to avoid the inconveni- 
ence likely to arise from such a request, he deter- 
mined not to propose it till the very last thing. 

" Every one present expressed their surprise at 
the luxuries and delicacies of the table, for it far 
surpassed every thing of the sort seen in that coun- 
try, especially with respect to the wines. Still, 
however, the father of Camilla was not satisfied, 
and loudly lamented that an accident had hap- 
pened to his capital red champaigne, which pre- 
vented his being able to offer his guests a single 
glass of it. 

" The company seemed anxious to become gay, 
for the whole of the day nothing like gaiety had 
been visible among them ; but no one around w here 
I sat, partook of this inclination, for curiosity alone 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 153 

appeared to occupy their whole attention. I was 
sitting near the lady who was so splendidly attired ; 
and I remarked that she neither ate nor drank any 
thing ; that she neither addressed nor answered a 
word to her neighbours, and that she appeared to 
have her eyes constantly fixed on the affianced 
couple. 

" The rumour of this singularity gradually 
spread round the room, and again disturbed the 
mirth which had become pretty general. Each 
whispered to the other a thousand conjectures on 
this mysterious personage. But the general opinion 
was, that some unhappy passion for Filippo was 
the cause of this extaordinary conduct. Those 
sitting next the unknown, were the first to rise 
from table, in order to find more cheerful associ- 
ates, and their places were filled by others who 
hoped to discover some acquaintance in this silent 
lady, and obtain from her a more welcome recep- 
tion ; but their hopes were equally futile. 

" At the time the champaigne was handed 
round, Filippo also brought a chair and sat by the 
unknown. She then became somewhat more ani- 
mated, and turned towards Filippo, which was 
more than she had done to any one else ; and she 
offered him her glass, as if wishing him to drink 
out of it. 



154 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" A violent trembling seized Filippo, when she 
looked at him steadfastly. 

" ' The wine is red!' cried he, holding up the 
glass ; ' I thought there had been no red cham- 
paigne.' 

" ' Red ! said the father of Camilla, with an air 
of extreme surprise, approaching him from curio- 
sity. 

" ' Look at the lady's glass,' replied Filippo. 

" < The wine in it is as white as all the rest,' an- 
swered Camilla's father; and he called all present 
to witness it. They every one unanimously de- 
clared that the wine was white. 

" Filippo drank it not, but quitted his seat ; for 
a second look from his neighbour had caused him 
extreme agitation. He took the father of Camilla 
aside, and whispered something to him. The 
latter returned to the company, saying, 

" '. Ladies and gentlemen, I entreat you, for rea- 
sons which I will tell you presently, instantly to 
unmask.' 

" As in this request he but expressed in a de- 
gree the general wish, every one's mask was off as 
quick as thought, and each face uncovered, except- 
ing that of the silent lady, on whom every look was 
fixed, and whose face they were the most anxious 
to see. 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 155 

u ' You alone keep on your mask/ said Camilla's 
father to her, after a short silence : ' May I hope 
you will also remove yours ?' 

" She obstinately persisted in her determination 
of remaining unknown. 

" This strange conduct affected the father of 
Camilla the more sensibly, as he recognised in the 
others all those whom he had invited to the fete, 
and found beyond doubt that the mute lady was 
the one exceeding the number invited. He 
was, however, unwilling to force her to unmask ; 
because the uncommon splendour of her dress did 
not permit him any longer to harbour the idea 
that this additional guest was a spy; and thinking 
her also a person of distinction, he did not wish to 
be deficient in good manners. He thought possibly 
she might be some friend of the family, who, not re- 
siding at Venice, but finding on her arrival in that 
city that he was to give this fete, had conceived 
this innocent frolic. 

" It was thought right, however, at all events to 
obtain all the information that could be gained from 
the servants : but none of them knew any thing 
of this lady ; there were no servants of hers there ; 
and those belonging to Camilla's father did not 
recollect having seen any who appeared to apper- 
tain to her. 

" What rendered this circumstance doubly 



156 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

strange was, that, as I before mentioned, this lady 
only put the magnificent bouquet into her bosom 
the instant previous to her sitting down to supper. 
u The whispering, which had generally usurped 
the place of all conversation, gained each moment 
more and more ascendancy; when on a sudden the 
masked lady arose, and walking towards the door, 
beckoned Filippo to follow her ; but Camilla hin- 
dered him from obeying her signal, for she had a 
long time observed with what fixed attention the 
mysterious lady looked at her intended husband; and 
she had also remarked, that the latter had quitted 
the stranger in violent agitation; and from all 
this she apprehended that love had caused him to 
be guilty of some folly or other. The master of 
the house, turning a deaf ear to all his daughter's 
remonstrances, and a prey to the most terrible 
fears, followed the unknown (at a distance, it is 
true) ; but she was no sooner out of the room than 
he returned. At this moment, the shriek which 
they had heard at noon was repeated, but seemed 
louder from the silence of night, and com- 
municated anew affright to all present. By the 
time the father of Camilla had returned from 
the first movement which his fear had occasioned 
him to make, the unknown was no where to be 
found. 

" The servants in waiting outside the house had 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 157 

Do knowledge whatever of the masked lady. In 
every direction around there were crowds of per- 
sons ; the river was lined with gondolas ; and yet 
not an individual among them had seen the myste- 
rious female. 

" All these circumstances had occasioned so 
much uneasiness to the whole party, that every one 
was anxious to return home; and the master of the 
house was obliged to permit the departure of the 
gondolas much earlier than he had intended. 

" The return home was, as might naturally be 
expected, very melancholy. 

" On the following day the betrothed couple 
were, however, pretty composed. Filippo had even 
adopted Camilla's idea of the unknown being 
some one whom love had deprived of reason; and 
as for the horrible shriek twice repeated, they were 
willing to attribute it to some people who were di- 
verting themselves; and they decided, that inatten- 
tion on the part of the servants was the sole cause 
of the unknown absenting herself without being 
perceived ; and they even at last persuaded them- 
selves, that the sudden disappearance of the ring, 
which they had not been able to find, was owing 
to the malice of some one of the servants who had 
pilfered it. 

" In a word, they banished every thing that 
could tend to weaken these explanations; and only 



158 TALES OF THE DEAD, 

one thing remained to harass them. The old 
priest, who was to bestow on them the nuptial be- 
nediction, had yielded up his last breath ; and the 
friendship which had so intimately subsisted be- 
tween him and the parents of Camilla, did not per- 
mit them in decency to think of marriage and 
amusements the week following his death. 

" The day this venerable priest was buried, Fi- 
lippo's gaiety received a severe shock ; for he 
learned, in a letter from Clara's mother, the death 
of that lovely girl. Sinking under the grief occa- 
sioned her by the infidelity of the man she had 
never ceased to love, she died : but to her latest 
hour she declared she should never rest quietly in 
her grave, until the perjured man had fulfilled the 
promise he had made to her. 

" This circumstance produced a stronger effect 
on him than all the imprecations of the unhappy 
mother ; for he recollected that the first shriek 
(the cause of which they had never been able to 
ascertain) was heard at the precise moment of Cla- 
ra's death ; which convinced him that the unknown 
mask could only have been the spirit of Clara. 

" This idea deprived him at intervals of his 
senses. 

" He constantly carried this letter about him ; 
and with an air of wandering would sometimes 
draw it from his pocket, in order to reconsider it 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 15Q 

attentively : even Camilla's presence did not deter 
him. 

" As it was natural to conclude this letter con- 
tained the cause of the extraordinary change which 
had taken place in Filippo, she one day gladly 
seized the opportunity of reading it, when in one 
of his absent fits he let it fall from his hands. 

u Filippo, struck by the death-like paleness and 
faintness which overcame Camilla, as she returned 
him the letter, knew instantly that she had read it. 
In the deepest affliction he threw himself at her 
feet, and conjured her to tell him how he must 
act. 

" ' Love me with greater constancy than you did 
her/ — replied Camilla mournfully. 

" With transport he promised to do so. But 
his agitation became greater and greater, and in- 
creased to a most extraordinary pitch the morning 
of the day fixed for the wedding. As he was go- 
ing to the house of Camilla's father before it be- 
came dark, (from whence he was to take his bride 
at dawn of day to the church, according to the 
custom of the country,) he fancied he saw Clara's 
spirit walking constantly at his side. 

" Never was seen a couple about to receive 
the nuptial benediction, with so mournful an aspect. 
I accompanied the parents of Camilla, who had 
requested me to be a witness : and the sequel has 



iGO TALES Ot THE DEAD. 

made an indelible impression on my mind of the 
events of that dismal morning. 

" We were proceeding silently to the church of 
the Salutation ; when Filippo, in our way thither, 
frequently requested me to remove the stranger 
from Camilla's side, for she had evil designs 
against her. 

" ' What stranger ?' I asked him. 

"' In God's name, don't speak so loud,' replied 
he ; ' for you cannot but see how anxious she is to 
force herself between Camilla and me.' 

" ' Mere chimera, my friend; there are none but 
yourself and Camilla.' 

" ' Would to Heaven my eyes did not deceive 
me !' — * Take care that she does not enter the 
church,' added he, as we arrived at the door. 

" ( She will not enter it, rest assured,' said I : 
and to the great astonishment of Camilla's pa- 
rents I made a motion as if to drive some one 
away. 

" We found Filippo's father already in the 
church ; and as soon as his son perceived him, he 
took leave of him as if he was going to die. Ca- 
milla sobbed ; and Filippo exclaimed : — 

" * There's the stranger; she has then got in.' 

" The parents of Camilla doubted whether un- 
der such circumstances the marriage ceremony 
ought to be begun. 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. l6l 

" But Camilla, entirely devoted to her love, 
cried : — ' These chimeras of fancy render my care 
and attention the more necessary/ 

" They approached the altar. At that moment a 
sudden gust of wind blew out the wax-tapers. The 
priest appeared displeased at their not having shut 
the windows more securely; but Filippo exclaim- 
ed : ' The windows ! See you not, then, that there 
is one here who blew out the wax-tapers pur- 
posely ?' 

" Every one looked astonished : and Filippo 
cried, as he hastily disengaged his hand from that 
of Camilla, — * Don't you see, also, that she is 
tearing me away from my intended bride ?' 

" Camilla fell fainting into the arms of her pa- 
rents; and the priest declared, that under such pe- 
culiar circumstances it was impossible to proceed 
with the ceremony. 

" The parents of both attributed Filippo's 
state to mental derangement. They even sup- 
posed he had been poisoned ; for an instant after, 
the unfortunate man expired in most violent con- 
vulsions. The surgeons who opened his body 
could not, however, discover any grounds for this 
suspicion. 

" The parents, who as well as myself were 
informed by Camilla of the subject of these sup- 

M 



l6<2 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

posed horrors of Filippo, did every thing in their 
power to conceal this adventure : yet, on talking 
over all the circumstances, they could never satis- 
factorily explain the apparition of the mysterious 
mask at the time of the wedding fete. And what 
still appeared very surprising was, that the ring lost 
at the country villa was found amongst Camilla's 
other jewels, at the time of their return from 
church." 

" i This is, indeed, a wonderful history !' said 
the count. His wife uttered a deep sigh : and Ida 
exclaimed, — 

" * It has really made me shudder.' 

" ' That is precisely what every betrothed person 
ought to feel who listens to such recitals/ an- 
swered I, looking steadfastly at the duke, who, 
while I was talking, had risen and sat down again 
several times; and who, from his troubled look, 
plainly shewed that he feared I should counteract 
his wishes. 

" ' A word with you !' he whispered me, as we 
were retiring to rest : and he accompanied me to 
my room. * I plainly perceive your generous in- 
tentions; this history invented for the occasion — " 

" ' Hold F said I to him in an irritated tone of 
voice : t I was eye-witness to what you have just 
heard. How then can you doubt its authenticity, 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 163 

without accusing a man of honour of uttering a 
falsehood ?' 

" f We will talk on this subject presently/ re- 
plied he in a tone of raillery. ' But tell me truly 
from whence you learnt the anecdote relative to 
mixing the blood with wine ? — I know the person 
from whose life you borrowed this idea/ 

" ' I do assure you that I have taken it from no 
one's life but Filippo's ; and yet there may be simi- 
lar stories — as of the shriek, for instance. But even 
this singular manner of irrevocably affiancing them- 
selves may have presented itself to any two lovers.' 

" ' Perhaps so ! Yet one could trace in your nar- 
ration many traits resembling another history.' 

"'That is very possible: all love-stories are 
founded on the same stock, and cannot deny their 
parentage.' 

" ' No matter,' replied Marino ; ' but I desire 
that from henceforth you do not permit yourself 
to make any allusion to my past life ; and still less 
that you relate certain anecdotes to the count. On 
these conditions, and only on these conditions, do 
I pardon your former very ingenious fiction.' 

" ' Conditions ! forgiveness ! And do you 

dare thus to talk to me? This is rather too 

much. Now take my answer : To-morrow morn- 
ing the count shall know that you have been al- 
ready affianced, and what you now exact.' 

M 2 



164 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" ' Marquis, if you dare * 

" Oh ! oh ! — yes, I dare do it ; and I owe it to ail 
old friend. The impostor who dares accuse me of 
falsehood shall no longer wear his deceitful mask 
in this house/ 

" Passion had, spite of my endeavours, carried 
me so far, that a duel became inevitable. The duke 
challenged me. And we agreed, at parting, to 
meet the following morning in a neighbouring 
wood with pistols. 

" In effect, before day-light we each took 
our servant and went into the forest. Marino^ 
remarking that I had not given any orders in case 
of my being killed, undertook to do so for 
me; and accordingly he told my servant what 
to do with my body, as if every thing was already 
decided. He again addressed me ere we shook 
hands ; — 

" l For/ said he, ' the combat between us must 
be very unequal. I am young/ added he ; c but in 
many instances my hand has proved a steady one. 
I have not, it is true, absolutely killed any man ; but 
I have invariably hit my adversary precisely on the 
part I intended. In this instance, however, I must, 
for the first time, kill my man, as it is the only effec- 
tual method of preventing your annoying me fur- 
ther ; unless you will give me your word of honour 
not to discover any occurrences of my past life to 






THE DEATH-BRIDE. \65 

the count, in which case I consent to consider the 
affair as terminated here/ 

" As you may naturally believe, I rejected his 
proposition. 

" ' As it must be so,' replied he, ' recommend 
your soul to God/ We prepared accordingly. 

" ' It is your first fire/ he said to me. 

" ' I yield it to you,' answered I. 

" He refused to fire first. I then drew the trigger, 
and caused the pistol to drop from his hand. He 
appeared surprised : but his astonishment was 
great indeed, when, after taking up another pistol, 
he found he had missed me. He pretended to 
have aimed at my heart; and had not even the pos- 
sibility of an excuse ; for he could not but acknow- 
ledge that no sensation of fear on my part had 
induced me to move, and baulk his aim. 

" At his request I fired a second time ; and again 
aimed at his pistol which he held in his left hand : 
and to his great astonishment it dropped also ; but 
the ball had passed so near his hand, that it was a 
good deal bruised. 

" His second fire having passed me, I told him 
I would not fire again ; but that, as it was possible 
the extreme agitation of his mind had occasion- 
ed him to miss me twice, I proposed adjusting 
matters. 

" Before he had time to refuse my offer, the 



166 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

count, who had suspicions that all was not right, 
was between us, with his daughter. He complained 
loudly of such conduct on the part of his guests ; 
and demanded some explanation on the cause of 
our dispute. I then developed the whole busi- 
ness in presence of Marino, whose evident embar- 
rassment convinced the count and Ida of the truth 
of the reproaches his conscience made him. 

" But the duke soon availed himself of Ida's af- 
fection, and created an entire change in the count's 
mind; who that very evening said to me, — 

" ' You are right ; I certainly ought to take some 
decided step, and send the duke from my house : 
but what could win the Apollonia whom he has 
abandoned, and whom he will never see again ? 
Added to which, he is the only man for whom my 
daughter has ever felt a sincere attachment. Let 
us leave the young people to follow their own in- 
clinations : the countess perfectly coincides in this 
opinion ; and adds, that it would hurt her much 
were this handsome Venetian to be driven from our 
house. How many little infidelities and indiscre- 
tions are committed in the world and excused, 
owing to particular circumstances ?' 

" * But it appears to me, that in the case in point, 
these particular circumstances are wanting,' an- 
swered I. However, finding the count persisted 
in his opinion, I said no more. 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 167 

u The marriage took place without any interrup- 
tion : but still there was very little of gaiety at the 
feast, which usually on these occasions is of so 
splendid and jocund a nature. The ball in the 
evening was dull ; and Marino alone danced with 
most extraordinary glee. 

" * Fortunately, monsieur le marquis/ said he 
in my ear, quitting the dance for an instant and 
laughing aloud, " there are no ghosts or spirits 
here, as at your Venetian wedding/ 

" ■ Don't,' I answered, putting up my finger to 
him, ' rejoice too soon : misery is slow in its ope- 
rations; and often is not perceived by us blind 
mortals till it treads on our heels.' 

"Contrary to my intention, this conversation 
rendered him quite silent ; and what convinced me 
the more strongly of the effect it had made on him, 
was, the redoubled vehemence with which the duke 
again began dancing. 

" The countess in vain entreated him to be care- 
ful of his health : and all Ida's supplications were 
able to obtain was, a few minutes* rest to take 
breath when he could no longer go on. 

"A few minutes after, I saw Ida in tears, which 
did not appear as if occasioned by joy ; and she 
quitted the ball-room. I was standing as close to 
the door as I am to you at this moment ; so that I 
could not for an instant doubt its being really Ida: 



168 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

but what appeared to me very strange was, that in 
a few seconds I saw her come in again with a coun- 
tenance as calm as possible. I followed her, and 
remarked that she asked the duke to dance; and 
was so far from moderating his violence, that she 
partook of and even increased it by her own ex- 
ample. I also remarked, that as soon as the dance 
was over the duke took leave of the parents of 
Ida, and with her vanished through a small door 
leading to the nuptial apartment. 

" While I was endeavouring to account in my 
own mind how it was possible for Ida so suddenly 
to change her sentiments, a conference in an under 
tone took place at the door of the room, between 
the count and his valet. 

" The subject was evidently a very important 
one, as the greatly incensed looks of the count to-!- 
wards his gardener evinced, while he confirmed, as 
it appeared, what the valet had before said. 

" I drew near the trio, and heard, that at a par- 
ticular time the church organ was heard to play, 
and that the whole edifice had been illuminated 
within, until twelve o'clock, which had just struck. 

"The count was very angry at their troubling 
him with so silly a tale, and asked why they did not 
sooner inform him of it. They answered, that every 
one was anxious to see how it would end. The 
gardener added, that the old chaplain had been 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 1 69 

seen again ; and the peasantry who lived near the 
forest, even pretended that they had seen the sum- 
mit of the mountain which overhung their valley 
illuminated, and spirits dance around it. 

tt c y erv we Ji p exclaimed the count with a 
gloomy air ; 'so all the old idle trash is resumed : 
the Death- Bride is also, I hope, going to play her 
part.' 

" The valet having pushed aside the gardener, 
that he might not still further enrage the count, I 
put in my word ; and said to the count, ' You 
might at least listen to what they have to say, and 
learn what it is they pretend to have seen/ 

" < What is said about the Death-Bride f said 
I to the gardener. 

" He shrugged up his shoulders. 

" * Was I not right ?' cried the count : c here we 

are then, and must listen to this ridiculous tale. 

All these things are treasured in the memory of 

these people, and constantly afford subjects and 

phantoms to their imaginations. Is it permitted 

to ask under what form V 

" f Pray pardon me/ replied the gardener ; ' but 
it resembled the deceased mademoiselle Hilde- 
garde. She passed close to me in the garden, and 
then came into the castle." 

" ' O !' said the count to him, ' I beg, in fu- 
ture you will be a little more circumspect in your 



170 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

fancies, and leave my daughter to rest quietly in 
the tomb Tis well—' 

" He then made a signal to his servants, who 
went out. 

" l Well ! my dear marquis !' said he to me. 

"'Well?' 

" ' Your belief in stories will not, surely, carry 
you so far as to give credence to my Hildegarde's 
spirit appearing V 

" ' At least it may have appeared to the gardener 

only Do you recollect the adventure in the 

Museum at Paris ?' 

" ' You are right : that again was a pretty inven- 
tion, which to this moment I cannot fathom. Be- 
lieve me, I should sooner have refused my daugh- 
ter to the duke for his having been the fabricator 
of so gross a story, than for his having forsaken his 
first love/ 

" * I see very plainly that we shall not easily ac- 
cord on this point ; for if my ready belief appears 
strange to you, your doubts seem to me incompre- 
hensible.' 

" The company assembled at the castle, retired 
by degrees ; and J alone was left with the count 
and his lady, when Ida came to the room-door, 
clothed in her ball-dress, and appeared astonished 
at finding the company had left. 

" * What can this mean f demanded the coun- 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 171 

tess. Her husband could not find words to ex- 
press his astonishment. 

" ' Where is Marino ?' exclaimed Ida. 

" ' Do you ask us where he is ?' replied her mo- 
ther; * did we not see you go out with him 
through that small door ?' 

" ' That could not be ; — you mistake/ 

" ' No, no ; my dear child ! A very short time 
since you were dancing with singular vehemence; 
and then you both went out together.' 

" ' Me ! my mother ?' 

" ' Yes, my dear Ida : how is it possible you 
should have forgotten all this ?' 

" ' I have forgotten nothing, believe me.' 

" l Where then have you been all this time V 

11 ' In my sister's chamber,' said Ida. 

" I remarked that at these words the count be- 
came somewhat pale ; and his fearful eye caught 
mine : he however said nothing. The countess, 
fearing that her daughter was deceiving her, said 
to her in an afflicted tone of voice : — 

" ' How could so singular a fancy possess you 
on a day like this V 

" ' I cannot account for it ; and only know, that 
all on a sudden I felt an oppression at my heart, 
and fancied that all I wanted was Hildegarde. At 
the same time I felt a firm belief that I should find 



172 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

her in her room playing on her guitar ; for which 
reason I crept thither softly/ 

" ' And did you find her there ?' 

" ' Alas ! no : but the eager desire that I felt to 
see her, added to the fatigue of dancing, so en- 
tirely overpowered me, that I seated myself on a 
chair, where I fell fast asleep.' 

" ' How long since did you quit the room ?' 

" ' The clock in the tower struck the three-quar- 
ters past eleven just as I entered my sister's room.' 

" ' What does all this mean ?' said the countess 
to her husband in a low voice : ' she talks in a 
connected manner; and yet I know, that as the 
clock struck three-quarters past eleven, I entreated 
Ida on this very spot to dance more moderately/ 

" ' And Marino ?' — asked the count. 

" ' I thought, as I before said, that I should 
find him here.' 

" ' Good God !' exclaimed the mother, c she 
raves : but the duke — Where is he then V 

" ' What then, my good mother ?' said Ida with 
an air of great disquiet, while leaning on the coun- 
tess. 

" Meanwhile the count took a wax- taper, and 
made a sign for me to follow him. A horrible 
spectacle awaited us in the bridal-chamber, whi- 
ther he conducted me. We there found the duke 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 173 

extended on the floor. There did not appear the 
slightest signs of life in him ; and his features were 
distorted in the most frightful manner. 

"Imagine the extreme affliction Ida endured 
when she heard this recital, and found that all the 
resources of the medical attendants were employed 
in vain. 

" The count and his family could not be roused 
from the deep consternation which threatened to 
overwhelm them. A short time after this event, 
some business of importance occasioned me to 
quit their castle ; and certainly 1 was not sorry for 
the excuse to get away. 

" But ere I left that county, I did not fail to col- 
lect in the village every possible information re- 
lative to the Death-Bride ; whose history unfor- 
tunately, in passing from one mouth to another, 
experienced many alterations. It appeared to me, 
however, upon the whole, that this affianced 
bride lived in this district, about the fourteenth or 
fifteenth century. She was a young lady of noble 
family, and she had conducted herself with so much 
perfidy and ingratitude towards her lover, that he 
died of grief; but afterwards, when she was about 
to marry, he appeared to her the night of her in- 
tended wedding, and she died in consequence. And 
it is said, that since that time, the spirit of this un- 



174 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

fortunate creature wanders on earth in every pos- 
sible shape ; particularly in that of lovely females, 
to render their lovers inconstant. 

" As it was not permitted for her to appear in 
the form of any living being, she always chose 
amongst the dead those who the most strongly re- 
sembled them. It was for this reason she volun- 
tarily frequented the galleries in which were hung 
family portraits. It is even reported that she has 
been seen in galleries of pictures open to public 
inspection. Finally, it is said, that, as a punish- 
ment for her perfidy, she will wander till she finds 
a man whom she will in vain endeavour to make 
swerve from his engagement ; and it appears, they 
added, that as yet she had not succeeded. 

" Having inquired what connection subsisted be- 
tween this spirit and the old chaplain (of whom 
also I had heard mention), they informed me, that 
the fate of the last depended on the young lady, 
because he had assisted her in her criminal con- 
duct. But no one was able to give me any sa- 
tisfactory information concerning the voice which 
had called the duke by his name, nor on the mean- 
ing of the church being illuminated at night ; and 
why the grand mass was chanted. No one either 
knows how to account for the dance on the moun- 
tain's top in the forest. 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 175 

" For the rest," added the marquis, " you will 
own, that the traditions are admirably adapted to my 
story, and may, to a certain degree, serve to fill up 
the gaps ; hut I am not enabled to give a more sa- 
tisfactory explanation. I reserve for another time 
a second history of this same Death-Bride ; I only 
heard it a few weeks since : it appears to me in- 
teresting ; but it is too late to begin to-day, and 
indeed, even now, I fear that I have intruded too 
long on the leisure of the company present by my 
narrative. " 

He had just finished these words, and some of 
his auditors (though all thanked him for the trouble 
he had taken) were expressing their disbelief of the 
story, when a person of his acquaintance came into 
the room in a hurried manner, and whispered 
something in his ear. Nothing could be more 
striking than the contrast presented by the bustling 
and uneasy air of the newly arrived person while 
speaking to the marquis, and the calm air of the 
latter while listening to him. 

" Haste, I pray you," said the first (who ap- 
peared quite out of patience at the marquis's sang- 
froid) : u In a few moments you will have cause to 
repent this delay," 

" I am obliged to you for your affecting solici- 
tude," replied the marquis ; who in taking up his 



176 TALES OF THE BEAD. 

hat, appeared more to do, as all the rest of the 
party were doing, in preparing to return home^ 
than from any anxiety of hastening away. 

" You are lost," said the other, as he saw an of- 
ficer enter the room at the head of a detachment of 
military, who inquired for the marquis. The lat- 
ter instantly made himself known to him. 

" You are my prisoner," said the officer. The 
marquis followed him, after saying Adieu with a 
smiling air to all the party, and begging they would 
not feel any anxiety concerning him. 

" Not feel anxiety !" replied he whose advice he 
had neglected. " I must inform you, that they have 
discovered that the marquis has been detected in a 
connection with very suspicious characters; and 
his death-warrant may be considered as signed. I 
came in pity to warn him of his danger, for pos- 
sibly he might then have escaped ; but from his 
conduct since, I can scarely imagine he is in his 
proper senses." 

The party, who were singularly affected by this 
event, were conjecturing a thousand things, when 
the officer returned, and again asked for the mar- 
quis. 

" He just now left the room with you," an- 
swered some one of the company. 

" But he came in again." 



THE DEATH-BRIDE. 177 

u We have seen no one." 

" H[e has then disappeared," replied the officer, 
smiling : he searched every corner for the marquis, 
but in vain. The house was thoroughly examined, 
but without success ; and the following day the of- 
ficer quitted the baths with his soldiers, without 
his prisoner, and very much dissatisfied. 



V. 
THE STORM. 



" Of shapes that walk 

At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed." 

Pleasures of Imagination. 



On the evening of the 12th of June 17 — , a joy- 
ous party was assembled at Monsieur de Mont- 
brun's chateau to celebrate the marriage of his 
nephew, who had, in the morn of that day, led to 
the altar the long-sought object of his fond attach- 
ment. The mansion, which was on this occasion 
the scene of merriment, was situated in the province 
of Gascony, at no very great distance from the 

town of . 

It was a venerable building, erected during the 
war of the League, and consequently discovered in 
its exterior some traces of that species of architec- 
ture which endeavoured to unite strength and 
massiveness with domestic comfort. Situated in a 
romantic, but thinly peopled district, the family of 
Monsieur de Montbrun was compelled principally 



THE STORM. 179 

to rely on itself for amusement and society. This 
family consisted of the chevalier, an old soldier of 
blunt but hospitable manners ; his nephew the 
bridegroom, whom (having no male children) he 
had adopted as his son, and Mademoiselle Emily, 
his only daughter: the latter was amiable, frank, 
and generous; warm in her attachments, but rather 
romantic in forming them. Employed in rural 
sports and occupations, and particularly attached 
to botany, for which the country around afforded 
an inexhaustible field, the chevalier and his in- 
mates had not much cultivated the intimacy of 
the few families which disgust to the world or 
other motives had planted in this retired spot. 
Occasional visits exchanged with the nearest of 
their neighbours sometimes enlivened their small 
circle ; with the greater part of those who lived at 
a distance, they were scarcely acquainted even by 
name. 

The approaching nuptials, however, of Theodore 
(which was the name of Monsieur de Montbrun's 
adopted son) excited considerable conversation 
in the adjacent district : and the wedding of her 
cousin, it was determined by Emily, should not 
pass off unaccompanied by every festivity which 
the nature of their situation and the joyfulness of 
the event would allow. On this occasion, there- 
fore, inquiries were made as to all the neighbour- 

N 2 



180 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ing gentry within a considerable distance around; 
and there were none of the least note neglected in 
the invitations, which were scattered in all direc- 
tions. Many persons were consequently present, 
with whose persons and character the host and his 
family were unacquainted : some also accepted the 
summons, who were strangers to them even in 
name. 

Emily was attentive and courteous to all; but to 
one lady in particular she attached herself during 
the entertainment with most sedulous regard. Ma- 
dame de Nunez, the immediate object of Emily's 
care, had lately settled in the neighbourhood, and 
had hitherto studied to shun society. It was sup- 
posed that she was the widow of a Spanish officer 
of the Walloon guards, to whom she had been 
fondly attached ; indeed so much so, that, not- 
withstanding he had been dead several years, the 
lady never appeared but in the garb of mourning. 
She had only lately settled in Gascony ; but her 
motives for retiring from Spain and fixing on the 
French side of the Pyrenees were not known, and 
but slightly conjectured. Isabella de Nunez was 
about twenty-eight years of age, tall and well- 
formed: her countenance was striking, nay even 
handsome ; but a nice physiognomist would have 
traced in her features evidence of the stronger pas- 
sions of human nature. He would have seen pride 



THE STORM. 181 

softened by distress ; and would have fancied, at 
times, that the effects of some concealed crime were 
still evident in her knit brow and retiring eye, when 
she became the object of marked scrutiny. 

She had never before entered the chateau de 
Montbrun, and her person had hitherto been un- 
noticed by Emily ; but who, having now seen her, 
devoted herself with ardour to her new friend. 
The lady received the attentions of her amiable 
hostess with grateful but dignified reserve. 

The morning had been extremely sultry, and an 
oppressive sensation in the air, which disordered 
respiration, threw, as the day closed, an air of 
gloom over the company, ill suited to the occasion 
of their meeting. Madame de Nunez appeared 
more than any one else to feel the effects of the 
lurid atmosphere ; the occasional sparks of gaiety 
which she had discovered, gradually disappeared ; 
and before the day had entirely shut in, she seemed 
at times perfectly abstracted, at other times to 
start with causeless apprehension. In order to di- 
vert or dispel this increasing uneasiness, which 
threatened to destroy all the pleasure of the festi- 
val, dancing was proposed; and the enlivening 
sounds of the music in a short time dissipated the 
temporary gloom. The dancing had not however 
long continued, ere the expected storm burst in all 
its fury on the chateau : the thunder, w ith its con- 



182 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

tinued roar, reverberated by the adjoining moun- 
tains, caused the utmost alarm in the bosom of the 
fair visitors ; the torrents of rain which fell, might 
almost be said to swell the waters of the neighbour- 
ing Garonne, whilst sheets of lightning, reflected 
on its broad waves, gave a deeper horror to the 
pitchy darkness which succeeded. The continuance 
of the storm gradually wound up the apprehen- 
sions of the greater part of the females to horror ; 
and they took refuge in the arched vaults, and long 
subterranean passages which branched beneath the 
chateau, from the vivid glare of the lightning ; al- 
though unable to shut their ears to the reiterated 
claps of thunder which threatened to shake the 
building to its foundations. In this general scene 
of horror, Isabella alone appeared unappall- 
ed. The alternate abstraction and alarm, which 
before seemed to harass her mind, had now 
vanished, and had given place to a character of 
resignation which might almost be considered as 
bordering on apathy. While the younger females 
yielded without resistance to the increasing horrors 
of the tempest, and by frequent shrieks and excla- 
mations of dread bore testimony to the terror 
excited in their bosoms by the aggravated circum- 
stances of the scene, she suffered no symptom of 
apprehension to be visible in her now unvarying 
features. Agitation had yielded to quiet : she sat 



THE STORM. 183 

ostensibly placid ; but her apparent inattention was 
evidently not the effect of tranquillity, but the re- 
sult of persevering exertion. 

The hour was approaching towards midnight; 
and the storm, instead of blowing over, having in- 
creased in violence, the hospitable owner of the 
mansion proposed to his guests, that they should 
abandon the idea of returning home through the 
torrents of rain, which had already deluged the 
country, and rendered the roads in the vicinity im- 
passable; but should accommodate themselves, 
with as little difficulty as possible, to the only plan 
now to be devised, — of making themselves easy 
during the remainder of this dismal night. Al- 
though his mansion was not extensive, yet he pro- 
posed (with the aid of temporary couches, and 
putting the ladies to the inconvenience of sleeping 
two in each room) to render the party as comfort- 
able as his means would allow ; and which would, 
at all events, be more agreeable than braving 
abroad the horrors of the tempest. 

Reasonable as such a plan was in itself, it was 
still moj?e strongly recommended by the circum- 
stance, that the carriages which were expected to 
convey the parties to their respective abodes had 
not arrived ; and from the state of the roads, and 
the continuance of the still pitiless storm, it seemed 
visionary to expect them. 



184 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

The party, therefore, yielded without regret to 
the offered arrangement, save with one dissenting 
voice. The fair Spaniard alone positively declined 
the offered accommodation. Argument in vain 
was used for a considerable space of time to detain 
her; she positively insisted on returning homeland 
would alone in the dark have faced the storm, 
had not an obstacle which appeared invincible, 
militated against her resolve ; this was too impe- 
rious to be resisted— her carriage and servants 
were not arrived ; and from the representation of 
Monsieur de Montbrun's domestics (some of whom 
had been detached to examine the condition of the 
neighbouring roads), it was perfectly clear, that 
with that part of the district in which she resided, 
no communication could for several hours take 
place. Madame de Nunez, therefore, at length 
yielded to necessity; although the pertinacity of her 
resistance had already excited much surprise, and 
called forth innumerable conjectures. 

The arrangements between the respective par^ 
ties were soon made, and the greater part of the 
ladies gladly retired to seek repose from the ha- 
rassing events of the day. Emily, who had not re- 
laxed in her marked attention to her interesting 
friend, warmly pressed her to share her own room, 
in which a sopha had been prepared as a couch, 
and to which she herself insisted on retiring, 



THE STORM. 185 

While madame de Nunez should take possession of 
the bed. The latter, however, again strenuously 
objected to this plan, asserting, that she should pre- 
fer remaining all night in one of the sitting-rooms, 
with no other companion than a book. She ap- 
peared obstinately to adhere to this resolution, un- 
til Emily politely, yet positively,declared, that were 
such the intention of her new friend, she would 
also join her in the saloon, and pass the time in 
conversation until the day should break, or until 
Madame's servants should arrive. This proposition, 
or rather determination, was received by the frown- 
ing Isabella with an air of visible chagrin and dis- 
appointment, not altogether polite. She expressed 
her unwillingness that Mademoiselle should be in- 
convenienced, with some peevishness ; but which, 
however, soon gave place to her former air of 
good -breeding. 

She now appeared anxious to hurry to her 
room; and the rest of the party having some time 
retired, she was escorted thither by the ever-atten- 
tive Emily. No sooner had they reached the 
chamber, than Isabella sunk into a chair; and after 
struggling for some time in evident emotion for 
utterance, at length exclaimed :-— 

" Why, dearest Emily, would you insist on 
sharing with me the horrors of this night ? To me 
the punishment is a merited one : but to you " 



186 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" What, my dearest madam, do you say ?" re- 
plied Emily affectionately — " The terrors of the 
night are over, the thunder appears retiring, and 
the lightning is less vivid; and see in the west 
(added she, as she went to the window) there are 
still some remains of the summer twilight. Do not 
any longer, then, suffer the apprehension of the 
storm which has passed over us, to disturb the re- 
pose which you will, I hope, so shortly enjoy." 

" Talk you of repose 1" said Madame de Nunez, 
in a voice almost choked with agitation — " Know 
you not, then, that on the anniversary of this horrid 
night ? but what am I saying! — to you, at pre- 
sent, all this is mystery ; too soon your own feel- 
ings will add conviction to the terrible experience 
which six revolving years have afforded me, and 
which, even now but to think on, harrows up my 
soul. — But no more — ." 

Then darting suddenly towards the door, which 
had hitherto remained a-jar, she closed it with vio- 
lence; and locking it, withdrew the key, which she 
placed in her own pocket. — Emily had scarcely 
time to express her surprise at this action and the 
apparent distraction which accompanied it, ere 
Madame de Nunez seized both her hands with 
more than female strength, and with a maddened 
voice and eye straining on vacancy, exclaimed : — 

" Bear witness, ye powers of terror ! that I im- 



THE STORM. 187 

posed not this dreadful scene on the female whose 
oath must now secure her silence/' 

Then staring wildly on Mademoiselle de Mont- 
brun, she continued : — 

" Why, foolish girl, wouldst thou insist on my 
partaking thy bed ? the viper might have coiled 
in thy bosom ; the midnight assassin might have 
aimed his dagger at thy breast — but the poison of 
the one would have been less fatal, and the ap- 
prehension of instant annihilation from the other 
would have been less oppressive, than the harrow- 
ing scene which thou art doomed this night to 
witness — Doomed, I say ; for all the powers of hell, 
whose orgies you must behold, cannot release you 
from the spectacle which you have voluntarily 
sought." 

"To what am I doomed !" cried Emily, whose 
fears for herself were lessened in the dread she felt 
for her friend's intellects, which she supposed were 
suddenly become affected by illness, or from the 
incidents of the past day. 

Isabella, after a silence of several minutes, dur- 
ing which she endeavoured to recover some degree 
of composure, in a softened but determined voice, 
said : — 

" Think not, my friend, (if I may use that en- 
dearing expression to one whose early prospects 
and happier days I am unwillingly condemned to 



188 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

blast,) that disorder has produced the agitation 
which, spite of myself, you have witnessed. — Alas! 
great as have been my sorrows, and heavy as my 
crime weighs on me, my reason has still preserved 
its throne : to seek oblivion in idiotcy ; to bury the 
remembrance of my fatal error in temporary de- 
rangement; would, I might almost say, be happiness 
to me. But fate has forbidden such an alleviation, 
and my impending destiny is not to be guarded 
against by precaution, cannot be avoided by re- 
pentance/' 

" Nay," said Emily, " exaggerated as your self- 
condemnation makes the fault to which you allude 
appear, in religion you may find a solace which 
could efface crimes of much deeper dye than any 
with which you can possibly charge yourself." 

"Ah ! no," replied the fair Spaniard,—" Reli- 
gion, it is true, holds out her benignant hand to 
receive the wandering sinner ; — she offers to the 
stranger a home ; she welcomes to her bosom the 
repentant though blood-stained criminal ; — but 
for crimes like mine, what penitence can atone ? — 
But we waste time," added she ; " the midnight 
hour approaches ; and ere the clock in the turret 
first announces that dreaded period, much must be 
done." 

Thus saying, she went into the adjoining oratory, 
and finding on the little altar at which Emily of- 



THE STORM. 189 

fered her daily oraisons, an ivory crucifix, she re- 
turned with it in her hand ; and again seizing and 
forcibly grasping the hand of her now really alarm- 
ed hostess, she exclaimed in a hollow, yet deter- 
mined voice : — 

" Swear, that whatsoever you may this night, 
this eventful night, be a witness to, not all the ap- 
prehensions of hell, not all your hopes of heaven, 
shall tempt you to reveal, until 1 am committed to 
the silent tomb — Swear !" 

Emily for a moment hesitated to adopt an oath 
imposed under circumstances of such an extraordi- 
nary nature : but whilst she was debating, Madame 
de Nunez, more violently grasping her hand, ex- 
claimed, in a voice harsh from agitation: — 

" Swear; or dread the event!" 

" Swear !" Emily fancied she heard echoed 
from the oratory. Almost sinking with horror, 
she faintly repeated the solemn oath, which the 
frantic. female, whose character appeared so per- 
fectly changed, thus dictated to her. 

She had no sooner thus solemnly bound herself 
to silence, than Madame de Nunez's agitation ap- 
peared to subside; she replaced the crucifix on the 
altar, and sinking on her knees before the chair in 
which Emily, almost void of animation, was seated, 
she feebly exclaimed : — 

" Pardon, dearest Emily, the madness of my 



190 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

conduct ; necessity has dictated it towards you ; and 
your wayward fate, and not your suffering friend, is 
answerable for it. For six long years have I con- 
fined to my own bosom the horrors which we this 
night must jointly witness. On the anniversary of 
this day — But I dare not yet communicate the 
dreadful event ; some hours hence I may recover 
composure to relate it : but remember your oath. 
While I live, the secret is buried in your bosom. You 
must have remarked my unwillingness to remain in 
your dwelling ; you could not have been inatten- 
tive to my repugnance to share your room — too 
soon you will have a dreadful explanation of the 
cause. Be not angry with me — I must endeavour 
to conceal the circumstances which appal my soul : 
I must still preserve the respect of society, al- 
though I have for ever forfeited my own — hence 
the oath I have imposed on you. But — " 

Here further conversation was interrupted 
by the sound of the turret clock, which began to 
strike the hour of midnight. It had scarcely 
finished, ere the slow rolling of a carriage was 
heard in the paved court-yard; at the noise of 
which, Madame de Nunez started from the posture 
in which she had continued at the feet of Emily, 
and rushed towards the door, which she had pre- 
viously locked. Emily now heard heavy foot- 
steps ascending the oaken stair-case ; and before 



THE STORM. 191 

she could recall her recollection, which so singu- 
lar a circumstance had bewildered, the door of the 
room in which they were sitting, spite of its fasten- 
ing, slowly moved on its hinges; and in the next 
minute — Emily sunk on the earth in a state of 
stupefaction. 

It is well for the human frame, that when as- 
sailed by circumstances too powerful to support, 
it seeks shelter in oblivion. The mind recoils from 
the horrors which it cannot meet, and is driven 
into insensibility. 

At an early hour of the ensuing morning Ma- 
dame de Nunez quitted Monsieur de Montbrun's 
chateau, accompanied by her servants, whom the 
retiring torrents had permitted to await their mis- 
tress's commands. She took a hasty farewell of the 
master of the mansion, and without making any 
inquiries as to the rest of the party, departed. 

At the usual hour of breakfast, Emily did not 
appear; and her father at length went to her room 
door, and receiving no answer to his inquiries, 
went in. Judge his horror, when he discovered his 
daughter lying on the bed in the clothes she had 
worn the preceding day, but in a state of apparent 
insensibility. Immediate medical assistance was 
procured, and she at length discovered symptoms 
of returning life; but no sooner had she recovered 
her recollection, than, looking with horror and af- 



192 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

fright around her, she again relapsed into a state 
of inanimation. Repeated cordials being admini- 
stered, she was again restored to life ; but only to 
become the victim of a brain- fever, which in a few 
days put a period to her existence. In a short 
interval of recollection, in the early part of her 
illness, she confided what we have here related to 
her father; but conscientiously kept from his know- 
ledge what she was bound by her oath to conceal. 
The very remembrance of what she had witnessed 
on that fatal night, hurried her into delirium, and 
she fell a victim to the force of recollection. 

Madame de Nunez did not long survive her; 
but expired under circumstances of unexampled 
horror. 



VI. 

THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 

(a tale of the sixteenth century.) 



" Sir Ryence of North-Gales greeteth well thee, 
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend." 

Percy's Reliques of Anc. Eng. Poetry. 



X here formerly lived at Bremen a wealthy mer- 
chant named Melchior, who, it was remarked, in- 
variably stroked his chin with complacency, when- 
ever the subject of the sermon was the rich man 
in the Gospel; who, by the bye, in comparison with 
him, was only a petty retail dealer. This said Mel- 
chior possessed such great riches, that he had caused 
the floor of his dining-room to be paved with 
crown-pieces. This ridiculous luxury gave great 
offence to Melchior's fellow-citizens and relations. 
They attributed it to vanity and ostentation, but did 
not guess its true motive : however, it perfectly an- 
swered the end Melchior designed by it j for, by their 



J94 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

constantly expressing their disapprobation of this 
ostentatious species of vanity, they spread abroad 
the report of their neighbour's immense riches, and 
thereby augmented his credit in a most astonishing 
manner. 

Melchior died suddenly while at a corporation 
dinner, and consequently had not time to make a 
disposition of his property by will ; so that his only 
son Francis, who was just of age, came into pos- 
session of the whole. This young man was parti- 
cularly favoured by fortune, both with respect to 
his personal advantages and his gooclness of heart ; 
but this immense inheritance caused his ruin. He 
had no sooner got into the possession of so consi- 
derable a fortune, than he squandered it, as if it 
had been a burthen to him ; ran into every possi- 
ble extravagance, and neglected his concerns. Two 
or three years passed over without his perceiving, 
that, owing to his dissipations, his funds were con- 
siderably diminished; but at length his coffers 
were emptied: and one day when Francis had 
drawn a draft to a very considerable amount on his 
banker, who had no funds to meet it, it was re- 
turned to him protested. This disappointment 
greatly vexed our prodigal, but only as it caused a 
temporary check to his wishes ; for he did not even 
then give himself the trouble to inquire into the 
reason of it. After swearing and blustering for 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. ]Q5 

some time, he gave his steward a positive but la- 
conic order to get money. 

All the brokers, bankers, money-changers, and 
usurers, were put in requisition, and the empty 
coffers were soon rilled ; for the dining-room 
floor was in the eyes of the lenders a sufficient se- 
curity. 

This palliative had its effect for a time : but all 
at once a report was spread abroad in the city that 
the celebrated silver floor had been taken up ; 
the consequence of which was, that the lenders in- 
sisted on examining into and proving the fact, and 
then became urgent for payment : but as Francis 
bad not the means to meet their demands, they 
seized on all his goods and chattels ; every thing 
was sold by auction, and he had nothing left ex- 
cepting a few jewels which had formed part of his 
heritage, and which might for a short time keep 
him from starving. 

He now took up his abode in a small street in 
one of the most remote quarters of the city, 
where he lived on his straitened means. He, 
however, accommodated himself to his situation : 
but the only resource he found against the ennui 
which overpowered him, was to play on the lute ; 
and when fatigued by this exercise, he used to 
stand at his window and make observations on the 

o 2 



196 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

weather ; and his intelligent mind was not long in 
discovering an object which soon entirely engrossed 
his thoughts. 

Opposite his window there lived a respectable 
woman, who was at her spinning-wheel from 
morning till night, and by her industry earned a 
subsistence for herself and her daughter. Meta 
was a young girl of great beauty and attraction : she 
had known happier times ; for her father had been 
the proprietor of a vessel freighted by himself, in 
which he annually made trading voyages to Ant- 
werp : but he, as well as his ship and all its cargo, 
was lost in a violent storm. His widow supported 
this double loss with resignation and firmness, and 
resolved to support herself and her daughter by her 
own industry. She made over her house and fur- 
niture to the creditors of her husband, and took up 
her abode in the little bye street in which Francis 
lodged, where by her assiduity she acquired a sub- 
sistence without laying herself under an obligation 
to any one. She brought up her daughter to spin- 
ning and other work, and lived with so much 
economy, that by her savings she was enabled to 
set up a little trade in linen. 

Mother Bridget, (which was the appellation 
given to our widow,) did not, however, calculate 
en terminating her existence in this penurious si- 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 1Q7 

tuation ; and the hope of better prospects sustained 
her courage. The beauty and excellent qualities 
of her daughter, whom she brought up with every 
possible care and attention, led her to think that 
some advantageous offer would one day present it- 
self. Meta lived tranquilly and lonely with her mo- 
ther, was never seen in any of the public walks, and 
indeed never went out but to mass once a day. 

One day while Francis was making his mete- 
orological observations at the window, he saw the 
beautiful Meta, who, under her mother's watchful 
eye, ; was returning from church. The heart of 
Francis was as yet quite free; for the boisterous 
pleasures of his past life did not leave him lei- 
sure for a true affection ; but at this time, when all 
his senses were calm, the appearance of one of 
the most enchanting female forms he had ever seen, 
ravished him, and he henceforth thought solely of 
the adorable object which his eyes had thus disco- 
vered. He questioned his landlord respecting the two 
females who lived in the opposite house, and from 
him learned the particulars we have just related. 

He now regretted his want of economy, since his 
present miserable state prevented him from ma- 
king an offer to the charming Meta. He was, how- 
ever, constantly at the window, in hopes of seeing 
her, and in that consisted his greatest delight. The 
mother very soon discovered the frequent appear- 



10S TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ance of her new neighbour at his window, and at- 
tributed it to its right cause. In consequence, she 
rigorously enjoined her daughter not to shew her- 
self at the windows, which were now kept con- 
stantly shut. 

Francis was not much versed in the arts of 
finesse, but love awakened all the energies of his 
soul. He soon discovered that if he appeared 
much at the window, his views would be suspected, 
and he resolved therefore studiously to refrain from 
coming near it. He determined, however, to con- 
tinue his observation of what occurred in the op- 
posite dwelling without being perceived. He ac- 
cordingly purchased a large mirror, and fixed it in 
his chamber in such a position that it distinctly 
presented to his view what passed in the abode of 
his opposite neighbour. Francis not being seen at 
the window, the old lady relaxed in her rigour, and 
Meta's windows were once more opened. Love 
more than ever reigned triumphant in the bosom 
of Francis : but how was he to make known his at- 
tachment to its object ? he could neither speak nor 
write to her. Love, however, soon suggested a 
mode of communication which succeeded. Our 
prodigal took his lute, and drew from it tones the 
best adapted to express the subject of his passion ; 
and by perseverance, in less than a month he made 
a wonderful progress. He soon had the gratifica- 



THR SPECTIiE-BAItBER. 199 

tion of seeing the fair hand of Meta open the little 
casement, when he began to tune the instrument. 
When she made her appearance, he testified his joy 
by an air lively and gay ; but if she did not shew 
herself, the melancholy softness of his tones disco- 
vered the disappointment he experienced. 

In the course of a short time he created a great 
interest in the bosom of his fair neighbour ; and 
various modes which love suggested shortly con- 
vinced our prodigal that Meta shared a mutual at- 
tachment. She now endeavoured to justify him, 
when her mother with acrimony spoke of his pro- 
digality and past misconduct, by attributing his 
ruin to the effect of bad example. But in so do- 
ing, she cautiously avoided exciting the suspicions 
of the old lady; and seemed less anxious to excuse 
him, than to take a part in the conversation which 
was going on. 

Circumstances which our limits will not allow us 
to narrate rendered the situation of Francis more 
and more difficult to be supported : his funds had 
now nearly failed him ; and an offer of marriage 
from a wealthy brewer, who was called in the 
neighbourhood the " King of Hops," and which 
Meta, much to her mother's disappointment, re- 
fused, excited still more the apprehensions of poor 
Francis, lest some more fortunate suitor might yet 
be received, and blast his hopes for ever. 

When he received the information that this opu- 



200 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

lent lover had been rejected for his sake, with what 
bitterness did he lament his past follies ! 

" Generous girl !" said he, "you sacrifice your- 
self for a miserable creature, who has nothing but 
a heart fondly attached to you, and which is riven 
with despair that its possessor cannot offer you the 
happiness you so truly merit." 

The King of Hops soon found another female, 
who listened more kindly to his vows, and whom 
he wedded with great splendour. 

Love, however, did not leave his work incom- 
plete ; for its influence created in the mind of 
Francis a desire of exerting his faculties and ac- 
tively employing himself, in order, if possible, to 
emerge from the state of nothingness into which 
he was at present plunged: and it inspired him 
also with courage to prosecute his good intentions. 
Among various projects which he formed, the most 
rational appeared that of overlooking his father's 
books, taking an account of the claimable debts, 
and from that source to get all he possibly could. 
The produce of this procedure would, he thought, 
furnish him with the means of beginning in some 
small way of business ; and his imagination led him 
to extend this to the most remote corners of the 
earth. In order to equip himself for the prosecu- 
tion of his plans, he sold all the remainder of his 
father's effects, and with the money purchased a 
horse to commence his travels. 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 201 

The idea of a separation from Meta was almost 
more than he could endure. " What will she 
think, " said he, " of this sudden disappearance, 
when she no longer meets me in her way to church? 
Will she not think me perfidious, and banish me from 
her heart ?" Such ideas as these caused him infi- 
nite pain : and for a long while he could not devise 
any means of acquainting Meta with his plans ; but 
at length the fertile genius of love furnished him 
with the following idea : — Francis\vent to the cu- 
rate of the church which his mistress daily fre- 
quented, and requested him before the sermon and 
during mass to put up prayers for a happy issue to 
the affairs of a young traveller ; and these prayers 
were to be continued till the moment of his return, 
when they were to be changed into those of thanks. 

Every thing being arranged for his departure, he 
mounted his steed, and passed close under Meta's 
window. He saluted her with a very significant 
air, and with much less caution than heretofore. 
The young girl blushed deeply ; and mother Brid- 
get took this opportunity of loudly expressing her 
dislike to this bold adventurer, whose impertinence 
and foppery induced him to form designs on her 
daughter. 

From this period the eyes of Meta in vain 
searched for Francis. She constantly heard the 
prayer which was put up for him j but was so en- 



S0£ TALES OF THE DEAD. 

tirely absorbed by grief at no longer perceiving the 
object of her affection, that she paid no attention 
to the words of the priest. In no way could she 
account for his disappearing. Some months after- 
wards, her grief being somewhat ameliorated, and 
her mind more tranquillized, when she was one day 
thinking of the last time she had seen Francis, the 
prayer arrested her attention ; she reflected for an 
instant, and quickly divined for whom it was said ; 
she naturally joined in it with great fervour, and 
strongly recommended the young traveller to the 
protection of her guardian angel. 

Meanwhile Francis continued his journey, and 
had travelled the whole of a very sultry day over 
one of the desert cantons of Westphalia without 
meeting with a single house. As night approached, 
a violent storm came on : the rain fell in torrents ; 
and poor Francis was soaked to the very skin. In 
this miserable situation he anxiously looked around, 
and fortunately discovered in the distance a light, 
towards which he directed his horse's steps; but 
as he drew near, he beheld a miserable cottage, 
which did not promise him much succour, for it 
more resembled a stable than the habitation of a 
human being. The unfeeling wretch who inha- 
bited it refused him fire or water as if he had been 
a banished man—he was just about to extend 
himself on the straw in the midst of the cattle, and 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 203 

his indolence prevented his lighting a fire for the 
stranger. Francis vainly endeavoured to move 
the peasant to pity : the latter was inexorable, and 
blew out his candle with the greatest nonchalance 
possible, without bestowing a thought on Francis. 
However, as the traveller hindered him from sleep- 
ing, by his incessant lamentations and prayers, he 
was anxious to get rid of him. 

" Friend," said he to him, " if you wish to be 
accommodated, I promise you it will not be here; 
but ride through the little wood to your left-hand, 
and you will find the castle belonging to the che- 
valier Eberhard Bronkhorst, who is very hospitable 
to travellers ; but he has a singular mania, which 
is, to flagellate all whom he entertains : therefore 
decide accordingly." 

Francis, after considering for some minutes 
what he had best do, resolved on hazarding the ad- 
venture. " In good faith," said he, " there is no 
great difference between having one's back broken 
by the miserable accommodation of a peasant, or 
by the chevalier Bronkhorst : friction disperses fe- 
ver; possibly its effects may prove beneficial to me, 
if I am compelled to keep on my wet garments." 

Accordingly he put spurs to his horse, and very 
shortly found himself before a gothic castle, at the 
iron gate of which he loudly knocked : and was 
answered from within by " Who 's there f*. But 



204 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ere he was allowed time to reply, the gate was 
opened. However, in the first court he was com- 
pelled to wait with patience, till they could learn 
whether it was the lord of the castle's pleasure to 
flagellate a traveller, or send him out to pass the 
night under the canopy of heaven. 

This lord of the castle had from his earliest in- 
fancy served in the Imperial army, under command 
of George of Frunsberg, and had himself led a 
company of infantry against the Venetians. At 
length, however, fatigued with warfare, he had re- 
tired to his own territory, where, in order to ex- 
piate the crimes he had committed during the se- 
veral campaigns he had been in, he did all the 
good and charitable acts in his power. But his 
manner still preserved all the roughness of his for- 
mer profession. The newly arrived guest, al- 
though disposed to submit to the usages of the 
house for the sake of the good fare, could not help 
feeling a certain trembling of fear as he heard the 
bolts grating, ere the doors were opened to him ; 
and the very doors by their groaning noise seemed 
to presage the catastrophe which awaited him. A 
cold perspiration came over him as he passed the 
last door; but finding that he received the utmost 
attention, his fears a little abated. The servants 
assisted him in getting off his horse, and unfastened 
his cloak-bag ; some of them led his horse to the 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 205 

stable, while others preceding him with flambeaux 
conducted Francis to their master, who awaited his 
arrival in a room magnificently lighted up. 

Poor Francis was seized with an universal tre- 
mour when he beheld the martial air and athletic 
form of the lord of the castle, who came up to 
him and shook him by the hand with so much 
force that he could scarcely refrain from crying 
out, and in a thundering voice enough to stun him, 
told him " he was welcome." Francis shook like 
an aspen-leaf in every part of his body. 

" What ails you, my young comrade ?" cried the 
chevalier Bronkhorst, in his voice of thunder: 
" What makes you thus tremble, and renders you 
as pale as if death had actually seized you by the 
throat ?" 

Francis recovered himself ; and knowing that his 
shoulders would pay the reckoning, his fears gave 
place to a species of audacity. 

" My lord/' answered he with confidence, " you 
see that I am so soaked with rain that one might 
suppose I had swam through the Wezer ; order 
me therefore some dry clothes instead of those I 
have on, and let us then drink a cup of hot wine, 
that I may, if possible, prevent the fever which 
otherwise may probably seize me. It will comfort 
my heart." 

" Admirable !" replied the chevalier ; " ask for 



£06 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

whatever you want, and consider yourself here as 
at home." 

Accordingly Francis gave his orders like a ba- 
ron of high degree : he sent away the wet clothes, 
made choice of others, and, in fine, made himself 
quite at his ease. The chevalier, so far from ex-* 
pressing any dissatisfaction at his free and easy 
manners, commanded his people to execute what- 
ever he ordered with promptitude, and condemned 
some of them as blockheads who did not appear to 
know how to wait on a stranger. As soon as the table 
was spread, the chevalier seated himself at it with 
his guest : they drank a cup of hot wine together. 

" Do you wish for any thing to eat ?" demanded 
the lord of Francis. 

The latter desired he would order up what his 
house afforded, that he might see whether his 
kitchen was good. 

No sooner had he said this, than the steward 
made his appearance, and soon furnished up a 
most delicious repast Francis did not wait for his 
being requested to partake of it : but after having 
made a hearty meal, he said to the lord of the 
castle, " Your kitchen is by no means despicable; 
if your cellar is correspondent, I cannot but say 
you treat your guests nobly." 

The chevalier made a sign to his butler, who 
brought up some inferior wine, and filled a large 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 207 

glass of it to his master, who drank to his guest. 
Francis instantly returned the compliment. 

" Well, young man, what say you to my wine f" 
asked the chevalier. 

" 'Faith," replied Francis, " I say it is bad, if it 
is the best you have in your cellar ; but if you have 
none worse, I do not condemn it." 

" You are a connoisseur ;" answered the cheva- 
lier. " Butler, bring us a flask of older wine." 

His orders being instantly attended to, Francis 
tasted it. " This is indeed some good old wine, 
and we will stick to it if you please." 

The servants brought in a great pitcher of it, and 
the chevalier, being in high good-humour, drank 
freely with his guest ; and then launched out into a 
long history of his several feats of prowess in the war 
against the Venetians. He became so overheated 
by the recital, that in his enthusiasm he overturned 
the bottles and glasses, and flourishing his knife as 
if it were a sword, passed it so near the nose and 
ears of Francis, that he dreaded he should lose 
them in the action. 

Though the night wore away, the chevalier did 
not manifest any desire to sleep ; for he was quite 
in his element, whenever he got on the topic of the 
Venetian war. Each succeeding glass added to the 
heat of his imagination as he proceeded in his nar- 
ration, till at length Francis began to apprehend 



TALES OF THE DEAD. 

that it was the prologue to the tragedy in which 
he was to play the principal part; and feeling 
anxious to learn whether he was to pass the night 
in the castle, or to be turned out, he asked for a 
last glass of wine to enable him to sleep well. He 
feared that they would commence by filling him 
with wine, and that if he did not consent to con- 
tinue drinking, a pretext would be laid hold of for 
driving him out of the castle with the usual chas- 
tisement. 

However, contrary to his expectation, the lord 
of the castle broke the thread of his narration, and 
said to him : " Good friend, every thing in its 
place : to-morrow we will resume our discourse." 

u Excuse me, sir knight," replied Francis ; " to- 
morrow, before sun-rise, I shall be on my road. 
The distance from hence to Brabant is very con- 
siderable, and I cannot tarry here longer, there- 
fore permit me to take leave of you now, that I 
may not disturb you in the morning." 

" Just as you please about that : but you will 
not leave the castle before I am up ; we will break- 
fast together, and I shall accompany you to the 
outer gate, and take leave of you according to my 
usual custom." 

Francis needed no comment to render these 
words intelligible. Most willingly would he have 
dispensed with the chevalier's company to the gate; 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 209 

but the latter did not appear at all inclined to de- 
viate from his usual custom. He ordered his ser- 
vants to assist the stranger in undressing, and to 
take care of him till he was in bed. 

Francis found his bed an excellent one ; and ere 
he went to sleep, he owned that so handsome a re- 
ception was not dearly bought at the expense of a 
trifling beating. The most delightful dreams (in 
which Meta bore the sway) occupied him the 
whole night; and he would have gone on (thus 
dreaming) till mid-day, if the sonorous voice of the 
chevalier and the clanking of his spurs had not 
disturbed him. 

It needed all Francis's efforts to quit this de- 
lightful bed, in which he was so comfortable, and 
where he knew himself to be in safety : he turned 
from side to side; but the chevalier's tremendous 
voice was like a death-stroke to him, and at 
length he resolved to get up. Several servants as- 
sisted him in dressing, and the chevalier waited for 
him at a small but well-served table ; but Francis, 
knowing the moment of trial was at hand, had no 
great inclination to feast. The chevalier tried to 
persuade him to eat, telling him it was the best 
thing to keep out the fog and damp air of the 
morning. 

" Sir knight," replied Francis, " my stomach is 
still loaded from your excellent supper of last 



210 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

evening ; but my pockets are empty, and I should 
much like to fill them, in order to provide against 
future wants." 

The chevalier evinced his pleasure at his frank- 
ness by filling his pockets with as much as they 
could contain. As soon as they brought him his 
horse, which he discovered had been well groomed 
and fed, he drank the last glass of wine to say 
Adieu, expecting that at that signal the chevalier 
would take him by the collar and make him pay 
his welcome. But, to his no small surprise, the 
chevalier contented himself with heartily shaking 
him by the hand as on his arrival : and as soon as 
the gate was opened, Francis rode off safe and 
sound. 

In no way could our traveller account for his host 
permitting him thus to depart without paying the 
usual score. At length he began to imagine that 
the peasant had simply told him the story to 
frighten him ; and feeling a curiosity to learn whe- 
ther or not it had any foundation in fact, he rode 
back to the castle. The chevalier had not yet 
quitted the gate, and was conversing with his ser- 
vants on the pace of Francis's horse, who appeared 
to trot very roughly : and seeing the traveller re- 
turn, he supposed that he had forgotten something, 
and by his looks seemed to accuse his servants of 
negligence. 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 211 

" What do you want, young man ?" demanded 
he : " Why do you, who were so much pressed for 
time, return ?" 

" Allow me, most noble sir," replied Francis, 
* to ask you one question, for there are reports 
abroad which tend to vilify you : It is said, that, 
after having hospitably received and entertained 
strangers, you make them at their departure feel 
the weight of your arm. And although I gave cre- 
dence to this rumour, I have omitted nothing which 
might have entitled me to this mark of your favour. 
But, strange to say, you have permitted me to de- 
part in peace, without even the slightest mark of 
your strength. You see my surprise ; therefore do 
pray inform me whether there is any foundation for 
the report, or whether I shall chastise the impu- 
dent story-teller who related the false tale to me." 

" Young man," replied Bronkhorst, " you have 
heard nothing but the truth : but it needs some 

explanations. 1 open my door hospitably to 

every stranger, and in Christian charity I give them 
a place at my table ; but I am a man who hates 
form or disguise ; I say all I think, and only wish 
in return that my guests openly and undisguisedly 
ask for all they want. There are unfortunately, 
however, a tribe of people who fatigue by their 
mean complaisance and ceremonies without end ; 
who wear me out by their dissimulation, and stun 

p2 



£12 TAtES OF THE DEAD. 

me by propositions devoid of sense, or who do not 
conduct themselves with decency during the repast. 
Gracious heavens ! I lose all patience when they 
carry their fooleries to such excesses, and I exert 
my right as master of the castle, by taking hold of 
their collars, and giving them tolerably severe chas- 
tisement ere I turn them out of my gates. — But a 
man of your sort, my young friend, will ever be 
welcome under my roof; for you boldly and openly 
ask for what you require, and say what you think ; 
and such are the persons I admire. If in your way 
back you pass through this canton, promise me 
you will pay me another visit. Good bye ! Let 
me caution you never to place implicit confidence 
in any thing you hear; believe only that there may 
be a single grain of truth in the whole story : be 
always frank, and you will succeed through life. 
Heaven's blessings attend you." 

Francis continued his journey towards Anvers 
most gaily, wishing, as he went, that he might every 
where meet with as good a reception as at the che- 
valier Bronkhorst's* 

Nothing remarkable occurred during the rest of 
his journey : and he entered the city full of the 
most sanguine hopes and expectations. . In every 
street his fancied riches stared him in the face. 
" It appears to me," said he, " that some of my 
father'^ debtors must have succeeded in business, 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 213 

and that they will only require my presence to re- 
pay their debts with honour." 

After having rested from the fatigue of his jour- 
ney, he made himself acquainted with every parti- 
cular relative to the debtors, and learnt that the 
greater part had become rich, and were doing ex- 
tremely well. This intelligence reanimated his 
hopes : he arranged his papers, and paid a visit to 
each of the persons who owed him any thing. But 
his success was by no means what he had expect- 
ed : some of the debtors pretended that they had 
paid every thing ; others, that they had never heard 
mention of Melchior of Bremen ; and the rest pro- 
duced accounts precisely contradictory to those he 
had, and which tended to prove they were creditors 
instead of debtors. In fine, ere three days had 
elapsed, Francis found himself in the debtors-pri- 
son, from whence he stood no chance of being re- 
leased till he had paid the uttermost farthing of his 
father's debts. 

How pitiable was this poor young man's condi- 
tion ! Even the horrors of the prison were aug- 
mented by the remembrance of Meta : — nay, to 
such a pitch of desperation was he carried, that he 
resolved to starve himself. Fortunately, however, 
at twenty- seven years of age such determinations 
are more easily formed than practised. 

The intention of those who put him into con- 



214 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

finement was not merely with a view of exacting 
payment of his pretended debts, but to avoid pay- 
ing him his due : so, whether the prayers put up 
for poor Francis at Bremen were effectual, or that 
the pretended creditors were not disposed to main- 
tain him during his life, I know not ; but after a 
detention of three months they liberated Francis 
from prison, with a particular injunction to quit the 
territories of Anvers within four- and- twenty hours, 
and never to set his foot within that city again : — 
They gave him at the same time five florins to de- 
fray his expenses on the road. As one may well 
imagine, his horse and baggage had been sold to 
defray the costs incident to the proceedings. 

With a heart overloaded with grief he quitted 
Anvers, in a very different frame of mind to what 
he experienced at entering it. Discouraged and ir- 
resolute, he mechanically followed the road which 
chance directed : he paid no attention to the vari- 
ous travellers, or indeed to any object on the road, 
till hunger or thirst caused him to lift his eyes to 
discover a steeple or some other token announcing 
the habitation of human beings. In this state of 
mind did he continue journeying on for several 
days incessantly ; nevertheless a secret instinct im- 
pelled him to take the road leading to his own 
country. 

All on a sudden he roused as if from a profound 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 216 

sleep, and recollected the place in which he was : 
he stopped an instant to consider whether he should 
continue the road he was then in, or return ; 
" For," said he, " what a shame to return to my 
native city a beggar !" How could he thus return 
to that city in which he formerly felt equal to the 
richest of its inhabitants ? How could he as a beg- 
gar present himself before Meta, without causing 
her to blush for the choice she had made ? He did 
not allow time for his imagination to complete this 
miserable picture, for he instantly turned back, as 
if already he had found himself before the gates of 
Bremen, followed by the shouts of the children. 
His mind was soon made up as to what he should 
do : he resolved to go to one of the ports of the 
Low- Countries, there to engage himself as sailor 
on board a Spanish vessel, to go to the newly dis- 
covered world ; and not to return to his native 
country till he had amassed as much wealth as he 
had formerly so thoughtlessly squandered. In the 
whole of this project, Meta was only thought of at 
an immeasurable distance : but Francis contented 
himself with connecting her in idea with his future 
plans, and walked, or rather strode along, as if by 
hurrying his pace he should sooner gain possession 
of her. 

Having thus attained the frontiers of the Low- 
Countries, he arrived at sun- set in a village situ- 



216 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ated near Rheinburg ; but since entirely destroyed 
in the thirty years' war. A caravan of carriers from 
Liege filled the inn so entirely, that the landlord 
told Francis he could not give him a lodging; add- 
ing, that at the adjoining village he would find ac- 
commodations. — Possibly he was actuated to this 
refusal by Francis's appearance, who certainly in 
point of garb might well be mistaken for a vaga- 
bond. 

The landlord took him for a spy to a band of 
thieves, sent probably to rob the carriers : so that 
poor Francis, spite of his extreme lassitude, was 
compelled with his wallet at his back to proceed 
on his road ; and having at his departure muttered 
through his teeth some bitter maledictions against 
the cruel and unfeeling landlord, the latter ap- 
peared touched with compassion for the poor 
stranger, and from the door of the inn called after 
him : " Young man ; a word with you ! If you re- 
solve on passing the night here, I will procure you 
a lodging in that castle you now see on the hill ; 
there you will have rooms in abundance, provided 
you are not afraid of being alone, for it is uninha- 
bited. See, here are the keys belonging to it." 

Francis joyfully accepted the landlord's proposi- 
tion, and thanked him for it as if it had been an act 
of great charity. 

" It is to me a matter of little moment where I 






THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 217 

pass the night, provided I am at my ease, and have 
something to eat." But the landlord was an ill- 
tempered fellow; and wishing to revenge the invec- 
tives Francis had poured forth against him, he sent 
him to the castle in order that he might be torment- 
ed by the spirits which were said to frequent it. 

This castle was situated on a steep rock, and 
was only separated from the village by the high- 
road and a little rivulet. Its delightful prospects 
caused it to be kept in good repair, and to be well 
furnished, as its owner made use of it as a hunt- 
ing-seat : but no sooner did night come on than he 
quitted it, in order to avoid the apparitions and 
ghosts which haunted it ; but during the day nothing 
of the sort was visible, and all was tranquil. 

When it was quite dark, Francis with a lantern 
in his hand proceeded towards the castle. The 
landlord accompanied him, and carried a little bas- 
ket of provisions, to which he had added a bottle of 
wine (which he said would stand the test), as well 
as two candles and two wax-tapers for the night. 
Francis, not thinking he should require so many 
things, and being apprehensive he should have to 
pay for them, asked why they were all brought. 

" The light from my lantern," said he, " will 
suffice me till the time of my getting into bed ; 
and ere I shall get out of it, the sun will have risen, 
for I am quite worn out with fatigue." 



218 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

"I will not endeavour to conceal from you," 
replied the landlord, <l that according to the cur- 
rent reports this castle is haunted by evil spirits : but 
do not let that frighten you ; you see I live suffi- 
ciently near, that, in case any thing extraordinary 
should happen to you, I can hear you call, and 
shall be in readiness with my people to render you 
any assistance. At my house there is somebody 
stirring all night, and there is also some one con- 
stantly on the watch. I have lived on this spot for 
thirty years, and cannot say that I have ever seen 
any thing to alarm me : indeed, I believe that you 
may with safety attribute any noises you hear du- 
ring the night in this castle, to cats and weazels, 
with which the granaries are overrun. I have only 
provided you with the means of keeping up a light 
in case of need, for, at best, night is but a gloomy 
season ; and, in addition, these candles are conse- 
crated, and their light will undoubtedly keep off 
any evil spirits, should there be such in the castle." 
The landlord spoke only the truth, when he said 
he had not seen any ghosts in the castle ; for he 
never had the courage to set his foot within its 
doors after dark ; and though he now spoke so 
courageously, the rogue would not have ventured 
on any account to enter. After having opened the 
door, he gave the basket into Francis's hand, 
pointed out the way he was to turn, and wished 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 219 

.him good night: while the latter, fully satisfied 
that the story of the ghosts must be fabulous, gaily 
entered. He recollected all that had been told him 
to the prejudice of the chevalier Bronkhorst, but 
unfortunately forgot what that brave Castellan had 
recommended to him at parting. 

Conformably to the landlord's instructions, he 
went up stairs and came to a door, which the key 
in his possession soon unlocked : it opened into a 
long dark gallery, where his very steps re-echoed ; 
this gallery led to a large hall, from which issued 
a suite of apartments furnished in a costly manner : 
he surveyed them all ; and made choice of one in 
which to pass the night, that appeared rather more 
lively than the rest. The windows looked to the 
high-road, and every thing that passed in front of 
the inn could be distinctly heard from them. He 
lighted two candles, spread the cloth, ate very 
heartily, and felt completely at his ease so long as 
he was thus employed; for while eating, no 
thought or apprehension of spirits molested him ; 
but he no sooner arose from table, than he began 
to feel a sensation strongly resembling fear. 

In order to render himself secure, he locked the 
door, drew the bolts, and looked out from each 
window ; but nothing was to be seen. Every thing 
along the high-road and in front of the inn wai 
tranquil, where, contrary to the landlord's asser- 



£20 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

tions, not a single light was discernible. The sound 
of the horn belonging to the night-guard was the 
only thing that interrupted the silence which uni- 
versally prevailed. 

Francis closed the windows, once again looked 
round the room, and after snuffing the candles that 
they might burn the better, he threw himself on 
the bed, which he found good and comfortable : 
but although greatly fatigued, he could not get to 
sleep so soon as he had hoped. A slight palpita- 
tion of the heart, which he attributed to the agita- 
tion produced by the heat of his journey, kept him 
awake for a considerable time, till at length sleep 
came to his aid. After having as he imagined 
been asleep somewhat about an hour, he awoke 
and started up in a state of horror possibly not un- 
usual to a person whose blood is overheated : 
this idea in some degree allayed his apprehensions; 
and he listened attentively, but could hear nothing 
excepting the clock, which struck the hour of mid- 
night. Again he listened for an instant; and turn- 
ing on his side, he was just going off to sleep again, 
when he fancied he heard a distant door grinding 
on its hinges, and then shut with a heavy noise. 
In an instant the idea of the ghost approaching 
caused him no little fear : but he speedily got the 
better of his alarm, by fancying it was only the 
wind; however, he could not comfort himself long 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 221 

with this idea, for the sound approached nearer and 
nearer, and resembled the noise made by the 
clanking of chains, or the rattling of a large bunch 
of keys. 

The terror which Francis experienced was be- 
yond all description, and he put his head under the 
clothes. The doors continued to open with a 
frightful noise, and at last he heard some one try- 
ing different keys at the door of his room ; one of 
them seemed perfectly to fit the lock, but the bolts 
kept the door fast ; however, a violent shock like a 
clap of thunder caused them to give way, and in 
stalked a tall thin figure with a black beard, whose 
appearance was indicative of chagrin and melan- 
choly. He was habited in the antique style, and on 
his left shoulder wore a red cloak or mantle, while 
his head was covered with a high-crowned hat. 
Three times with slow and measured steps he 
walked round the room, examined the consecrated 
candles, and snuffed them : he then threw off his 
cloak, unfolded a shaving apparatus, and took from 
it the razors, which he sharpened on a large leather 
strop hanging to his belt. 

No powers are adequate to describe the agonies 
Francis endured : he recommended himself to the 
Virgin Mary, and endeavoured, as well as his fears 
would permit, to form an idea of the spectre's de- 
signs on him. Whether he purposed to cut his 



£22 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

throat, or only take off his beard, he was at a loss 
to determine. The poor traveller, however, was a 
little more composed, when he saw the spectre 
take out a silver shaving-pot, and in a bason of the 
same metal put some water ; after which he made 
a lather, and then placed a chair. But a cold per- 
spiration came over Francis, when the spectre with 
a grave air, made signs for him to sit in that chair. 

He knew it was useless to resist this mandate, 
which was but too plainly given: and thinking it 
most prudent to make a virtue of necessity, and to 
put a good face on the matter, Francis obeyed the 
order, jumped nimbly out of bed, and seated him- 
self as directed. 

The spirit placed the shaving-bib round his 
neck : then taking a comb and scissars, cut off his 
hair and whiskers ; after which he lathered, accord- 
ing to rule, his beard, his eye-brows and head, and 
shaved them all off completely from his chin to 
the nape of his neck. This operation ended, he 
washed his head, wiped and dried it very nicely, 
made him a low bow, folded up his case, put his 
cloak on his shoulder, and made towards the door 
to go away. 

The consecrated candles had burnt most bril- 
liantly during the whole of this operation ; and hy 
their clear light Francis discovered, on looking into 
the glass, that he had not a single hair remaining 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 223 

on his head. Most bitterly did he deplore the loss 
of his beautiful brown hair: but he regained cou- 
rage on remarking, that,however great the sacrifice, 
all was now over, and that the spirit had no more 
power over him. 

In eiFect, the ghost walked towards the door 
with as grave an air as he had entered : but after 
going a few steps, he stopped, looked at Francis 
with a mournful air, and stroked his beard. He 
three times repeated this action; and was on the 
point of quitting the room, when Francis began to 
fancy he wanted something. With great quickness 
of thought he imagined it might be, that he wished 
him to perform a like service for him to that which 
he had just been executing on himself. 

As the spectre, spite of his woe-begone aspect, 
appeared more inclined to raillery than gravity, and 
as his proceedings towards Francis appeared more 
a species of frolic than absolute ill treatment, the 
latter no longer appeared to entertain any appre- 
hension of him ; and in consequence determined 
to hazard the adventure. He therefore beckoned 
the phantom to seat himself in the chair. It in- 
stantly returned, and obeyed : taking off its cloak, 
and unfolding the case, it placed it on the table, 
and seated itself in the chair, in the attitude of one 
about to be shaved. Francis imitated precisely all 
he had seen it do : he cut off its hair and whis- 



224 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

kers, and then lathered its head. The spirit did not 
move an inch. Our barber's apprentice did not 
handle the razor very dexterously ; so that having 
taken hold of the ghost's beard against the grain, 
the latter made a horrible grimace. Francis did 
not feel much assured by this action : however, he 
got through the job as well as he could, and ren- 
dered the ghost's head as completely bald as his 
own. 

Hitherto the scene between the two performers 
had passed in profound silence ; but on a sudden 
the silence was interrupted by the ghost exclaim- 
ing with a smiling countenance : — " Stranger, I 
heartily thank you for the eminent service you have 
rendered me ; for to you am I indebted for deli- 
verance from my long captivity. During the space 
of three hundred years I have been immersed 
within these walls, and my soul has been con- 
demned to submit to this chastisement as a punish- 
ment for my crimes, until some living being had 
the courage to exercise retaliation on me, by doing 
to me what I have done by others during my life. 

" Count Hartmann formerly resided in this 
castle : he was a man who recognized no law nor 
superior ; was of an arrogant and overbearing dis- 
position ; committed every species of wickedness, 
and violated the most sacred rights of hospitality : 
he played all sorts of malicious tricks to strangers 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 225 

who sought refuge under his roof, and to the poor 
who solicited his chanty. I was his barber, and 
did every thing to please him. No sooner did I 
perceive a pious pilgrim, than in an endearing tone 
I urged him to come into the castle, and prepared 
a bath for him; and while he was enjoying the 
idea of being taken care of, I shaved his beard and 
head quite close, and then turned him out of the 
bye door, with raillery and ridicule. All this was 
seen by count Hartmann from his window with a 
sort of devilish pleasure, while the children would 
assemble round the abused stranger, and pursue 
him with cries of derision. 

" One day there came a holy man from a far 
distant country ; he wore a penitentiary cross at his 
back, and his devotion had imprinted scars on his 
feet, hands, and sides ; his head was shaved, ex- 
cepting a circle of hair left to resemble the crown 
of thorns worn by our Saviour. He asked some 
water to wash his feet as he passed by, and some 
bread to eat. I instantly put him into the bath ; 
but did not respect even his venerable head. Up- 
on which the pilgrim pronounced this terrible 
curse on me: i Depraved wretch/ said he, ' know 
that at your death, the formidable gates of heaven, 
of hell, and of purgatory will alike be closed 
against your sinful soul, which shall wander 
through this castle, in the form of a ghost, until 

Q 



226 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

some man, without being invited or constrained, 
shall do to you, what you have so long done to 
others." 

" From that moment the marrow in my bones 
dried up, and I became a perfect shadow; my 
soul quitted my emaciated body, and remained 
wandering within these walls, according to the pre- 
diction of the holy man. In vain did I look and 
hope for release from the painful ties which held 
me to earth ; for know, that no sooner is the soul 
separated from the body, than it aspires to the 
blissful regions of peace, and the ardour of its 
wishes causes years to appear as long as centuries, 
while it languishes in a strange element. As a 
punishment, I am compelled to continue the trade 
that I had exercised during my life ; but, alas ! my 
nocturnal appearance soon rendered this castle de- 
serted. Now and then a poor pilgrim entered to 
pass the night here : when they did, however, I 
treated them all as I have done you : but not one 
has understood me, or rendered me the only ser- 
vice which could deliver my soul from this sad ser- 
vitude. Henceforth no spirit will haunt this castle ; 
for I shall now enjoy that repose of which I have 
been so long in search. Once again let me thank 
you, gallant youth ; and believe, that had I power 
over the hidden treasures of the globe, I would 
give them all to you ; but, unfortunately, during 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 227 

my life riches did not fall to my lot, and this castle 
contains no store : however, listen to the advice I 
am now about to give you. 

" Remain here till your hair has grown again ; 
then return to your own country ; and at that pe- 
riod of the year when the days and nights are of 
equal length, go on the bridge which crosses the 
Weser, and there remain till a friend, whom you 
will there meet, shall tell you what you ought to 
do to get possession of terrestrial wealth. When 
you are rolling in riches and prosperity, remember 
me ; and on every anniversary of the day on which 
you released me from the heavy maledictions 
which overwhelmed me, cause a mass to be said 
for the repose of my soul. Adieu ! I must now 
leave you." 

Thus saying, the phantom vanished, and left his 
liberator perfectly astonished at the strange history 
he had just related. For a considerable time Fran- 
cis remained immoveable, and reasoned with him- 
self as to the reality of what he had seen ; for he 
could not help fancying still that it was only a 
dream : but his closely shaved head soon convinced 
him that the event had actually taken place. He 
got into bed again, and slept soundly till mid- day. 

The malicious inn-keeper had been on the 
watch from dawn of day for the appearance of 
the traveller, in order that he might enjoy a laugh 

Q2 



£28 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

at his expense, and express his surprise at the 
night's adventure. But after waiting till his pa- 
tience was nearly exhausted, and finding it ap- 
proached to noon, he began to apprehend that the 
spirit had either strangled the stranger, or that he 
had died of fright. He therefore called his ser- 
vants together, and ran with them to the castle, 
passing through every room till he reached the one 
in which he had observed the light the over-night : 
there he found a strange key in the door, which 
was still bolted ; for Francis had drawn the bolts 
again after the ghost had vanished. The landlord, 
who was all anxiety, knocked loudly ; and Francis 
on awaking, at first thought it was the phantom 
come to pay him a second visit ; but at length re- 
cognising the landlord's voice, he got up and opened 
the door. 

The landlord, affecting the utmost possible asto- 
nishment, clasped his hands together, and exclaim-, 
ed, " Great God and all the saints ! then the red 
cloak has actually been here and shaved you com- 
pletely? I now see that the story was but too 
well founded. But pray relate to me all the par- 
ticulars : tell me what the spirit was like ; how he 
came thus to shave you ; and what he said to you ?" 

Francis, having sense enough to discover his 
roguery, answered him by saying : " The spirit re- 
sembled a man wearing a red cloak ; you know 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 229 

full well how he performed the operation : and his 
conversation I perfectly remember ; — listen atten- 
tively : — l Stranger/ said he to me, ' do not trust 
to a certain inn-keeper who has a figure of malice 
for his sign ; the rogue knew well what would 
happen to you. Adieu ! I now quit this abode, as 
my time is come ; and in future no spirit will make 
its appearance here. I am now about to be trans- 
formed into a night-mare, and shall constantly tor- 
ment and haunt this said inn-keeper, unless he does 
penance for his villany, by lodging, feeding, and 
furnishing you with every thing needful, till your 
hair shall grow again and fall in ringlets over your 
shoulders.' " 

At these words the landlord was seized with a 
violent trembling : he crossed himself, and vowed 
to the Virgin Mary that he would take care of the 
young stranger, lodge him, and give him every 
tiling he required free of cost. He then conducted 
him to his house, and faithfully fulfilled what he 
promised. 

The spirit being no longer heard or seen, Fran- 
cis was naturally looked on as a conjuror. He 
several times passed a night in the castle ; and one 
evening a courageous villager accompanied him, 
and returned without having lost his hair. The 
lord of the castle, hearing that the formidable red 
cloak was no longer to be seen, was quite delighted, 



230 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

and gave orders that the stranger who had delivered 
him from this spirit should be well taken care of. 
Early in the month of September, Francis's hair 
began to form into ringlets, and he prepared to 
depart ; for all his thoughts were directed towards 
the bridge over the Weser, where he hoped, accord- 
ing to the barber's predictions, to find the friend 
who would point out to him the way to make his 
fortune. 

When Francis took leave of the landlord, the 
latter presented him with a handsome horse well 
appointed, and loaded with a large cloak-bag on 
the back of the saddle, and gave him at the same 
time a sufficient sum of money to complete his 
journey. This was a present from the lord of the 
castle, expressive of his thauks for having delivered 
him from the spirit, and rendered his castle again 
habitable. 

Francis arrived at bis native place in high spi- 
rits. He returned to his lodging in the little street, 
where he lived very retired, contenting himself for 
the present with secret information respecting Meta. 
All the tidings he thus gained were of a satisfac- 
tory nature; but he would neither visit her, nor 
make her acquainted with his return, till his.fate 
was decided. 

He waited with the utmost impatience for the 
equinox ; till which, time seemed immeasurably 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. <23l 

long. The night preceding the eventful day, he 
could not close his eyes to sleep ; and that he 
might be sure of not missing the friend with whom 
as yet he was unacquainted, he took his station ere 
sun-rise on the bridge, where no human being but 
himself was to be discovered. Replete with hopes 
of future good fortune, he formed a thousand pro- 
jects in what way to spend his money. 

Already had he, during the space of nearly an 
hour, traversed the bridge alone, giving full scope to 
his imagination ; when on a sudden the bridge pre- 
sented a moving scene, and amongst others, many 
beggars took their several stations on it, to levy 
contributions on the passengers. The first of this 
tribe who asked charity of Francis was a poor de- 
vil with a wooden leg, who, being a pretty good 
physiognomist, judged from the gay and contented 
air of the young man that his request would be 
crowned with success ; and his conjecture was not 
erroneous, for he threw a demi-florin into his hat. 

Francis, meanwhile, feeling persuaded that the 
friend he expected must belong to the highest class 
of society, was not surprised at not seeing him at 
so early an hour, and waited therefore with pati- 
ence. But as the hour for visiting the Exchange 
and the Courts of Justice drew near, his eyes were 
in constant motion. He discovered at an immense 
distance every well-dressed person who came on 



232 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

the bridge, and his blood was in a perfect ferment 
as each approached him, for in some one of them 
did he hope to discover the author of his good for- 
tune ; but it was in vain his looking the people in 
the face, no one paid attention to him. The beg- 
gars, who at noon were seated on the ground eat- 
ing their dinner, remarking that the young man 
they had seen from the first of the morning was 
the only person remaining with them on the bridge, 
and that he had not spoken to any one, or appeared 
to have any employment, took him for a lazy va- 
gabond ; and although they had received marks of 
his beneficence, they began to make game of him, 
and in derision called him the provost of the bridge. 
The physiognomist with the wooden leg remarked 
that his air was no longer so gay as in the morning, 
and that having drawn his hat over his face he ap- 
peared entirely lost in thought, for he walked 
slowly along, nibbling an apple with an abstracted 
air. The observer, resolving to benefit by what he 
had remarked, went to the further extremity of the 
bridge, and after well examining the visionary, came 
up to him as a stranger, asked bis charity, and suc- 
ceeded to his utmost wish ; for Francis, without 
turning round his head, gave him another demi- 
florin. 

In the afternoon a crowd of new faces presented 
themselves to Francis's observation, while he be- 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 233 

came quite weary at his friend's tardiness ; but hope 
still kept up his attention. However, the fast de- 
clining sun gave notice of the approach of night, and 
yet scarcely any of the many passers-by had noticed 
Francis. Some few, perhaps, had returned his sa- 
lutation, but not one had, as he expected and 
hoped, embraced him. At length, the day so vi- 
sibly declined that the bridge became nearly de- 
serted; for even the beggars went away. A pro- 
found melancholy seized the heart of poor Francis, 
when he found his hopes thus deceived ; and giv- 
ing way to despair, he would have precipitated 
himself into the VVeser, had not the recollection of 
Meta deterred him. He felt anxious, ere he ter- 
minated his days in so tragical a manner, to see her 
once again as she went to mass, and feast on the 
contemplation of her features. 

He was preparing to quit the bridge, when the 
beggar with the wooden leg accosted him, for he 
had in vain puzzled his brains to discover what 
could possibly have caused the young man to re- 
main on the bridge from morning till night. The 
poor cripple had waited longer than usual on ac- 
count of Francis, in order to see when he went ; 
but as he remained longer than he wished, curio- 
sity at length induced him openly to address him, 
in order to learn what he so ardently desired to 
know. 



234 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

" Pray excuse me, worthy sir," said he ; " and 
permit me to ask you a question." 

Francis, who was by no means in a mood to 
talk, and who now heard from the mouth of a beg- 
gar the words which he had so anxiously expected 
from a friend, answered him in rather an angry 
tone : " Well then ! what is it you want to know, 
old man ?" 

" Sir, you and I were the two first persons on 
this bridge to-day ; and here we are still the only 
remaining two. As for me and my companions, it 
is pretty clear that we only come to ask alms : but 
it is equally evident you do not belong to our pro- 
fession ; and yet you have not quitted the bridge the 
whole day. My dear sir, for the love of God, if 
it is no secret, tell me I entreat you for what pur- 
pose you came, and what is the grief that rends 
your heart ?" 

" What can it concern you, old dotard, to know 
where the shoe pinches me, or what afflictions I 
am labouring under ?" 

" My good sir, I wish you well ; you have twice 
bestowed your charity on me, which I hope the 
Almighty will return to you with interest, I could 
not but observe, however, that this evening. your 
countenance no longer looked gay and happy as in 
the morning ; and, believe me, I was sorry to see 
the change." 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 235 

The unaffected interest evinced by the old man 
pleased Francis. a Well," replied he, " since you 
attach so much importance to the knowledge of 
the reason I have for remaining the whole day here 
plaguing myself, I will inform you that I came in 
search of a friend who appointed to meet me on 
this bridge, but whom I have expected in vain." 

" With your permission I should say your friend 
is a rogue, to play the fool with you in this man- 
ner. If he had so served me, I should make him 
feel the weight of my crutch whenever I met him : 
for if he has been prevented from keeping his 
word by any unforeseen obstacle, he ought at least 
to have sent to you, and not have kept you here on 
your feet a whole day." 

" And yet I have no reason to complain of his 
not coming, for he promised me nothing. In fact, 
it was only in a dream that I was told I should 
meet a friend here." 

Francis spoke of it as a dream, because the his- 
tory of the ghost was too long to relate. 

" That alters the case," replied the old man. 
" Since you rest your hopes on dreams, I am not 
astonished at your being deceived. I have also had 
many dreams in my life; but I was never fool 
enough to pay attention to them. If I had all the 
treasures that have been promised me in dreams, 
I could purchase the whole city of Bremen : but 



236 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

1 have never put faith in dreams, and have not 
taken a single step to prove whether they were 
true or false ; for I know full well, it would be 
useless trouble : and I am astonished that you 
should have lost so fine a day, which you might 
have employed so much more usefully, merely on 
the strength of a dream which appears to me so 
wholly devoid of sense or meaning." 

" The event proves the justness of your remark, 
old father ; and that dreams generally are deceitful. 
But it is rather more than three months since I had 
a very circumstantial dream relative to my meeting 
a friend on this particular day, here ou this bridge; 
and it was so clearly indicated that he should com- 
municate things of the utmost importance, that I 
thought it worth while to ascertain whether this 
dream had any foundation in truth." 

" Ah! sir, no one has had clearer dreams than 
myself ; and one of them I shall never forget. I 
dreamt, several years since, that my good angel 
stood at the foot of my bed, in the form of a young 
man, and addressed me as follows : — < Berthold, 
listen attentively to my words, and do not lose any 
part of what I am about to say. A treasure is al- 
lotted you ; go and secure it, that you may be en- 
abled to live happily the rest of your days. To- 
morrow evening, when the sun is setting, take a 
pick-axe and spade over your shoulder, and go out 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 237 

of the city by the gate leading to Hamburgh : when 
you arrive facing the convent of Saint Nicholas, 
you will see a garden, the entrance to which is or- 
namented by two pillars ; conceal yourself behind 
one of these until the moon rises : then push the 
door hard, and it will yield to your efforts ; go 
without fear into the garden, follow a walk covered 
by a treillage of vines, and to the left you will see a 
great apple-tree: place yourself at the foot of this 
tree, with your face turned towards the moon, and 
you will perceive, at fifteen feet distance, two 
bushy rose-trees : search between these two shrubs, 
and at the depth of about six feet you will discover 
a great flag-stone, which covers the treasure in- 
closed within an iron chest ; and although it is 
heavy and difficult to handle, do not regret the la- 
bour it will occasion you to move it from the hole 
where it now is. You will be well rewarded for 
your pains and trouble, if you look for the key 
which is hid under the box/" 

Francis remained like one stupified at this reci- 
tal; and certainly would have been unable to con- 
ceal his astonishment, if the darkness of the night 
had not favoured him. The various particulars 
pointed out by the beggar brought to his recollec- 
tion a little garden which he had inherited from his 
father, and which garden was the favourite spot of 
that good man ; but possibly for that very reason 



238 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

it was not held in estimation by the son. Mel- 
chior had caused it to be laid out according to his 
own taste, and his son in the height of his extrava- 
gance had sold it at a very low price. 

The beggar with his wooden leg was now be- 
come a very interesting personage to Francis, who 
perceived that he was the friend alluded to by the 
ghost in the castle of Rummelsbourg* The first 
impulse of joy would have led him to embrace the 
mendicant ; but he restrained his feelings, thinking 
it best not to communicate the result of his intel- 
ligence to him. 

" Well, my good man," said he, " what did you 
when you awoke ? did you not attend to the advice 
given by your good angel ?" 

" Why should I undertake a hopeless labour ? 
It was only a vague dream ; and if my good angel 
was anxious to appear to me, he might choose a 
night when I am not sleeping, which occurs but 
too frequently : but he has not troubled his head 
much about me ; for if he had, I should not have 
been reduced, as I now am, to his shame, to beg 
my bread." 

Francis took from his pocket another piece of 
money, and gave it to the old man, saying : " Take 
this to procure half a pint of wine, and drink it ere 
you retire to rest. Your conversation has dispelled 
my sorrowful thoughts; do not fail to come regu- 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 239 

larly to this bridge, where I hope we shall meet 
again." 

The old lame man, not having for a long while 
made so good a day's work, overwhelmed Francis 
with his grateful benedictions. They separated, 
and each went their way. Francis, whose joy was 
at its height from the near prospect of his hopes 
being realised, very speedily reached his lodging in 
the bye street. 

The following day he ran to the purchaser of 
the little garden, and proposed to re- purchase it. 
The latter, to whom this property was of no par- 
ticular value, and indeed who began to be tired of 
it, willingly consented to part with it. They very 
soon agreed as to the conditions of the purchase, 
and went immediately to sign the contract: with the 
money he had found in his bag, as a gift from the 
lord of Rummelsbourg, Francis paid down half the 
price : he then procured the necessary tools for dig- 
ging a hole in the earth, conveyed them to the garden, 
waited till the moon was up, strictly adhered to the 
instructions given him by the old beggar, set to 
work, and without any unlucky adventure he ob- 
tained the hidden treasure. 

His father, as a precaution against necessity, had 
buried this money, without any intention to de- 
prive his son of this considerable portion of his 
inheritance ; but dying suddenly, he had carried 



240 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

the secret to his grave, and nothing but a hap- 
py combination of circumstances could have re- 
stored this lost treasure to its rightful owner. 

The chest filled with gold pieces was too heavy 
for Francis to remove to his lodging without em- 
ploying some person to assist him : and feeling un- 
willing to become a topic of general conversation, 
he preferred concealing it in the summer-house 
belonging to the garden, and fetching it at several 
times. On the third day the whole was safely con- 
veyed to his lodging in the little back street. 

Francis dressed himself in the best possible style, 
and went to the church to request that the priest 
would substitute for the prayers which had been 
previously offered up, a thanksgiving for the safe 
return of a traveller to his native country, after 
having happily terminated his business. He con- 
cealed himself in a corner, where, unseen, he could 
observe Meta. The sight of her gave him inex- 
pressible delight, especially when he saw the beau- 
tiful blush which overspread her cheeks, and the 
brilliancy of her eyes, when the priest offered up 
the thanksgiving. A secret meeting took place as 
had been formerly arranged; and so much was 
Meta affected by it, that any indifferent person 
might have divined the cause. 

Francis repaired to the Exchange, set up again 
in business, and in a very short time had enough to 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 241 

do ; his fortune each succeeding day becoming bet- 
ter known, his neighbours judged that he had had 
greater luck than sense in his journey to collect his 
father's debts. He hired a large house in the best 
part of the town, engaged clerks, and continued his 
business with laudable and indefatigable assiduity; 
he conducted himself with the utmost propriety 
and sagacity, and abstained from the foolish extra- 
vagancies which had formerly been his ruin. 

The re-establishment of Francis's fortune form- 
ed the general topic of conversation. Every one 
was astonished at the success of his foreign voyage : 
but in proportion to the spreading fame of his 
riches, did Meta's tranquillity and happiness dimi- 
nish ; for it appeared that her silent lover was now 
in a condition to declare himself openly, and yet he 
remained dumb, and only manifested his love by the 
usual rencontre on coming out of church; and even 
this species of rendezvous became less frequent, 
which appeared to evince a diminution of his af- 
fection. 

Poor Meta's heart was now torn by jealousy ; 
for she imagined that the inconstant Francis was 
offering up his vows to some other beauty. She 
had experienced secret transports of delight on 
learning the change of fortune of the man she 
loved, not from interested motives and the wish to 
participate in his bettered fortune herself, but 

R 




242 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

from affection to her mother, who, since the failure 
of the match with the rich brewer, absolutely 
seemed to despair of ever enjoying happiness or 
comfort in this world. When she thought Francis 
faithless, she wished that the prayers put up for 
him in the church had not been heard, and that his 
journey had not been attended with such entire 
success ; for had he been reduced to means merely 
sufficient to procure the necessaries of life, in all 
probability he would have shared them with her. 

Mother Bridget failed not to perceive her 
daughter's uneasiness, and easily guessed the cause; 
for she had heard of her old neighbour's surprising 
return, and she knew he was now considered an 
industrious intelligent merchant; therefore she 
thought if his love for her daughter was what it 
ought to be, he would not be thus tardy in decla- 
ring it ; for she well knew Meta's sentiments to- 
wards him. However, feeling anxious to avoid the 
probability of wounding her daughter's feelings, 
she avoided mentioning the subject to her: but the 
latter, no longer able to confine her grief to her 
own bosom, disclosed it to her mother, and con- 
fided the whole to her. 

Mother Bridget did not reproach her daughter 
for her past conduct, but employed all her elo- 
quence to console her, and entreated her to bear 
up with courage under the loss of all her hopes : 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 243 

" You must resign him," said she : " you scorned 
at the happiness which presented itself to your ac- 
ceptance, therefore you must now endeavour to be 
resigned at its departure. Experience has taught 
me that those hopes which appear the best founded 
are frequently the most delusive; follow my ex- 
ample, and never again deliver up your heart. Do 
not reckon on any amelioration of your condi- 
tion, and you will be contented with your lot. 
Honour this spinning-wheel which produces the 
means of your subsistence, and then fortune and 
riches will be immaterial to you : you may do 
without them." 

Thus saying, mother Bridget turned her wheel 
round with redoubled velocity, in order to make 
up for the time lost in conversation. She spoke 
nothing but the truth to her daughter : for since 
the opportunity was gone by when she hoped it 
was possible to have regained her lost comforts, 
she had in such a manner simplified her present 
wants and projects of future life, that it was not in 
the power of destiny to produce any considerable 
derangement in them. But as yet Meta was not 
so great a philosopher; so that her mother's ex- 
hortations, consolations, and doctrines, produced a 
precisely different effect on her from what they 
were intended. Meta looked on herself as the de- 
stroyer of the flattering hopes her mother had en- 

r2 



244 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

tertained. Although she did not formerly ac- 
cept the offer of marriage proposed to her, and 
even then could not have reckoned on possess- 
ing beyond the common necessaries of life ; yet, 
since she had heard the tidings of the great fortune 
obtained by the man of her heart, her views had 
become enlarged, and she anticipated with pleasure 
that by her choice she might realize her mother's 
wishes. 

Now, however, this golden dream had vanished : 
Francis would not come again ; and indeed they 
even began to talk in the city of an alliance about 
to take place between him and a very rich young 
lady of An vers. This news was a death-blow 
to poor Meta : she vowed she would banish him 
from her thoughts ; but still moistened her work 
with her tears. 

Contrary, however, to her vow, she was one day 
thinking of the faithless one : for whenever she 
filled her spinning-wheel, she thought of the fol- 
lowing distich, which her mother had frequently 
repeated to her to encourage her in her work : 

" Spin the thread well) spin, spin it more, 
For see your intended is now at the door." 

Some one did in reality knock gently at the door; 
and mother Bridget went to see who it was. 
Francis entered, attired as for the celebration of a 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 245 

wedding. Surprise fur a while suspended mother 
Bridget's faculties of speech. Meta, blushing 
deeply and trembling, arose from her seat, but was 
equally unable with her mother to say a word. 
Francis was the only one of the three who could 
speak ; and he candidly declared his love, and de- 
manded of Bridget the hand of her daughter. The 
good mother, ever attentive to forms, asked eight 
days to consider the matter, although the tears of 
joy which she shed, plainly evinced her ready and 
prompt acquiescence : but Francis, all impatience, 
would not hear of delay : finding which, she, con- 
formable to her duty as a mother, and willing to sa- 
tisfy Francis's ardour, adopted a mid- way, and left 
the decision to her daughter. The latter, obeying 
the dictates of her heart, placed herself by the side 
of the object of her tenderest affection ; and Fran- 
cis, transported with joy, thanked her by a kiss. 

The two lovers then entertained themselves with 
talking over the delights of the time when they so 
well communicated their sentiments by signs. 
Francis had great difficulty in tearing himself 
away from Meta and such \ converse sweet/ but he 
had an important duty to fulfil. 

He directed his steps towards the bridge over 
the Weser, where he hoped to find his old frienc| 
with the wooden leg, whom he had by no means 
forgotten, although he had delayed making the pro- 



246 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

mised visit. The latter instantly recognised Fran- 
cis ; and no sooner saw him at the foot of the 
bridge, than he came to meet him, and shewed 
evident marks of pleasure at sight of him. 

" Can you, my friend," said Francis to him, af- 
ter returning his salutation, " come with me into 
the new town and execute a commission? You 
will be well rewarded for your trouble." 

" Why not ? — with my wooden leg I walk about 
just as well as other people ; and indeed have an 
advantage over them, for it is never fatigued. I 
beg you, however, my good sir, to have the kind- 
ness to wait till the man with the grey great-coat 
arrives." 

" What has this man in the grey great-coat to do 
with you ?" 

" He every day comes as evening approaches 
and gives me a demi-florin ; I know not from 
whom. It is not indeed always proper to learn all 
things; so I do not breathe a word. I am some- 
times tempted to believe, that it is the devil who is 
anxious to buy my soul ; but it matters little, I 
have not consented to the bargain, therefore it 
cannot be valid." 

" I verily believe that grey surtout has some ma- 
lice in his head; so follow me, and }Oti shall have 
a quarter-florin over and above the bargain." 

Francis conducted the old man to a distant cor- 



THE SPECTRE-BARBER. 247 

ner, near the ramparts of the city, stopped before 
a newly built house, and knocked at the door. As 
soon as the door was opened, he thus addressed 
the old beggar : " You have procured a very agree- 
able evening for me in the course of my life ; it is 
but just, therefore, that I should shed some com- 
forts over your declining days. This house and 
every thing appertaining thereto belongs to you. 
The kitchen and cellar are both well stocked ; 
there is a person to take care of you, and every day 
at dinner you will find a quarter- florin under your 
plate. It is now time for you to know that the 
man in the grey surtout is my servant, whom I 
every day sent with my alms till this house was 
ready to receive you. You may, if you please, con- 
sider me as your guardian angel, since your good 
angel did not acquit himself uprightly in return for 
your gratitude." 

Saying this, he made the old man go into his 
house; where the latter found every thing he could 
possibly desire or want. The table was spread; and 
the old man was so much astonished at this unex- 
pected good fortune, that he thought it must be a 
dream ; for he could in no way imagine why a 
rich man hould feel so much interest for a mise- 
rable beggar. Francis having again assured him 
that every thing he saw was his own, a torrent of 
tears expressed his thanks; and before he could suf- 



248 TALES OF THE DEAD. 

ficiently recover from his astonishment to express 
his gratitude by words, Francis had vanished. 

The following day, mother Bridget's house was 
filled with merchants and shopkeepers of all de- 
scriptions, whom Francis had sent to Meta, in or- 
der that she might purchase and get ready every 
thing she required for her appearance in the world 
with suitable eclat. Three weeks afterwards he 
conducted her to the altar. The splendour of the 
wedding far exceeded that of the King of Hops. 
Mother Bridget enjoyed the satisfaction of adorn- 
ing her daughter's forehead with the nuptial crown, 
and thereby obtained the accomplishment of all 
her desires, and was recompensed for her virtuous 
and active life. She witnessed her daughter's hap- 
piness with delight, and proved the very best of 
grand-mothers to her daughter's children. 



THE END. 



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